


War Doesn't Teach You

by andsylphy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Asthma-esque Breathing Trouble, Breaking down, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dancing Rivals, Death Threats, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Filled Kisses, Hate Sex, Limit Pushing, Loss of Control, M/M, Slow Burn, Some lowkey McHanzo squished in there too, hangovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsylphy/pseuds/andsylphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soldier 76 recounts the things that war never taught him. Reaper fails to follow through with snuffing out his 'old friend'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blindly

 There are a lot of things that they don't teach you when you get into war. Soldier: 76 could only name a couple handfuls if he had an extra cup of coffee and a few hours to mull it over. But the one that stuck out to him the most is that death wasn't the worst thing you need fear. He'd been nursing that wound longer than he had been nursing the loss of most of his sight, real estate on his scalp, or just plain time. Every couple of months a new memory would pop up and he'd spend the morning with a cup of tea rather than coffee; didn't need to be wound up to think of people he'd lost.

 Tracer was one of those that understood this with him, and gave him space when he needed it, but companionship when his mode of coping was to distract himself. Gal was a ray of sunshine and the typical glass-half-full, it-could-be-worse, look-on-the-brightside kind of companion. But she was Billy Pilgrim. Unstuck in time and at the mercy of a little piece of technology that might as well be attached to her. He wondered if she ever read Vonnegut. Maybe he would have to lend her his copy. Maybe, if she doesn't mind worn out books with the cover ripped off so that he could bend the pages over the spine to read comfortably in one hand.

 A familiar notification sound pulled him out of his train of thought. His breakfast had long gone cold, three bites taken out of it. One hand answers the commlink while the other gathers his trash and puts it in the rubbish. The mug goes on the tray with another half dozen off-white ceramic mugs. "Yes. Yes, I'll be there in just a moment." He agrees to a few more words to get off of the link as quickly as possible and up to the meeting.

 Within 2 hours he's packed up, and out on another operation. Still doing his duty to the people. The convoy passes the statue of Jack Morrison today on its way out. Tracer is thrilled, but he purses his lips behind his visor. Being contempt of what you have done as much as you are proud is another thing war doesn’t teach you. His glove creaks as he holds his rifle tighter in his hand, the only sign of stress readable in his body language. _There were so many more people that deserved recognition._ He'd always felt that ever since they put up that thing. He looks away from the window to those accompanying him. His companions are busy speaking things over with each other, devising a plan.

 The mission was simple enough. A large weapon was being transported for decommissioning to another base of operations. It shouldn't be hard and it would be a quick trip back home so he could go to sleep. His eyes stung just at the thought of sleeping, the only good they were for anymore. He had his own worries, mostly in his job. There was this kind of black comedy about the whole thing. His stressor and his motivator.

 Talon was becoming restless, after a few run ins with a particular that looked like they came out of a mediocre horror movie. Reaper. Soldier: 76 had only had a couple of sightings of him himself. But they never lasted long. There and gone in a flash. He had been scraping up intel but coming out with blanks.

 A few quips of updated information comes in within the halfway mark and a sigh comes out of Soldier: 76 as he gears up to brawl. There was a split between who it would be that showed up. Talon. Rising stars. Thugs with their fingers in a lot of pies. Somehow there was always a leak of their information and it rubbed him the wrong way. The convoy stops and he volunteers to scout up ahead. Fear was something that had left him with years of practice. He only needed to pull the band-aid and get out there.

 Or at least, that was supposed to be the case. This wasnt The skirmish broke out quickly once he had rounded the corner, sending him behind cover to avoid a spray of bullets. His visor picked up movement across the way and he picked off the first in his line of sight. A small wail was the last that came from them before they disappear. Glancing around, he can only see small fry. No one that stood out. He moves away as some more to avoid a projectile. He's away just enough that the flash doesn't overwork his visor, but he didn't dare move closer in case he was still in range of another. The cover is terrible here. He can feel his muscles tense with the stress of the entire situation. War doesn’t teach you to lose the stress that comes with every battle. And with stress, comes mistakes.

 His mistake was going around the corner blindly.

 Hollywood movies always seemed to only use that ringing effect when there was a loud explosion. They don’t tend to show that if you get hit hard enough that your head spins, leaving you on the ground, you can stop hearing for a moment. It was even easier when this has happened before, say in an actual explosion. Tinnitus was rough, and on top of this damn ringing there was nothing but muffled sounds. All he could hear was the low grumble of whoever was standing above him. As the visor re-focused he realized that standing above him was that horror movie spook himself. Reaper. He grimaces under his mask and reaches for his gun in a desperate move only to feel the sole of combat boot stomp and pin his wrist to the ground. Even with his head spinning against the asphalt he can hear the rolling waves of recognizable laughter. The barrel of a gun pushes his chin up. He’s still talking. Does he even realize he’s still recovering?

 “I can’t hear you.” He lets him know as his ears clear. Another recognizable sound, this time a scowl as Reaper knelt down and wrapped a gloved hand around his neck, squeezing. His own hand immediately attempts to detach it with a snarl coming from his own mouth.

 “Maybe I should be a little louder then, shouldn’t I?” Reaper asks with a venom in his tone. Now that he can hear, he notices this practically purring tone. Like he was a cat playing with his prey. The gun drops onto his chest for a moment as the other clawed hand pries off his and pins that to the pavement as well. “Now, now, no need to be so feisty.”

 “What do you want?” Now that the adrenaline was coming down his head was starting to pound as fast as his heart was. His brow visibly furrows. His visor couldn’t hide his discomfort. Reaper readjusts, pinning both of his arms under his knees.

 “I want to soak in this moment of you being at my mercy.” An odd thing for a man who was practically sitting on his chest to say.

 “Mercy? You don’t seem like the type that shows mercy—“ Soldier: 76 cuts off as the barrel of that shotgun comes down hard on his clavicle and he groans loudly.

 “Let’s not spoil the ending.” Reaper puts a lot of emphasis on how much he would like Soldier: 76 to lose his confidence. It had always pissed him off. How he could let a situation roll of his back, take the punches. _Be the leader._ “Even on your back, you haven’t changed.”

 The odd stillness of Soldier: 76’s body puts all the power that Reaper needed to feel like he was in complete control of the situation. He reaches for the rifle and tosses it away, Soldier: 76 glances at it as it slides across the ground, far out of reach.

 “Gabriel…” It wasn’t a question, or a statement. It was just an acknowledgment.

 “He finally crosses the finish line.” Reaper’s tone is so matter of fact right now. As if it had been obvious. How could he have even known? For a moment he feels foolish because there wasn’t a way that Morrison could have ever known. “You know, Morrison, I’ve been savoring the idea of this moment for quite some time.”

 Soldier: 76 says nothing. For Reaper, it’s both satisfying and enraging. It was like something that you dreamed of being better in the dream. Like the gift you got disappointing you when it didn’t live up to the commercial. He grits his teeth behind the mask and hisses. “Say something.”

 “What do you want me to say, Reyes?”

 That was enough to bring Reyes to a boil. His clawed hand reaches down and grasps the visor. “Maybe your face can say what you don’t seem to have the capacity to.”

 “Reyes—“ There’s a new struggle to Jack’s body, but not enough to free his arms. The visor comes off and lays in Reyes’ hand before he lets it fall to the ground with a purposeful clatter. Jack’s brows are furrowed but look as though he’s looking past him. Reyes feels his jaw clench so quickly he nearly bites the inside of his mouth. But somehow, Jack can tell. “I’ve been legally blind since the explosion, Reyes.”

 “Is there a part of you that _does_ still work?” Comes a snarl from Reaper. He had expected at least for a scared look in his eye but even that wasn’t an option. This little moment he’d imagined over and over was getting sullied more and more the longer it went on. “Jack Morrison, there isn’t a single thing I want that you don’t take from me!”

 “What do you even want from me, Gabriel?” Still pinned, he still doesn’t know what the point of this all was. Gabriel was irrational and unpredictable. This entire moment didn’t seem like it was planned out. He found out who he was, but not his condition. A wild animal who couldn’t wait for the meal and snapped for the scraps. He had probably only just found out who he really was under this mask and couldn’t wait for a more opportune moment. One without the sound of gunfire, or the possibility of being interrupted.

 “I want you _dead_.” His voice is as low as Jack could remember it ever getting. “You’re like a ghost that I can’t rid myself of.” The gun makes a re-appearance, pressing to Jack’s throat, the pressure itself making him swallow dryly. Jack honestly couldn’t predict anything that Gabriel could do at this point. His arms, pinned at the elbow and slowly losing feeling, couldn’t rustle loose to move the weapon in time. He could only lay here.

 That moment never came though. The grip that Gabriel held so tightly to the gun was with so much force that he could feel the Reaper’s hand tremble with how tightly he was straining his muscles. He couldn’t see Gabriel more than a black blob against a slightly less black background. It must have only been a few moments, but those minutes felt like hours. Hours of waiting for Gabriel to make a move and nothing.

 “Gabriel—“

 “Shut. _Up_. Morrison!” he cut him off before he could even finish the ‘what are you waiting for’. Realizing that out of all the Overwatch operatives he had lain down with his own hands, this was the moment that he was choking, was practically making his body lock with anger. He couldn’t pull the trigger. This wasn’t just another face in the ranks of Overwatch.

 This was Jack.

 His hand lets the gun drop, but his other hand returns to Jack’s throat, squeezing, making sure that he knew that he was still in danger. The coughs and struggle showing that the blind man still had perhaps a little bit of life left in him. His other hand reaches up to push his mask away. It wasn’t like Jack could see him like this. In fact, he liked it better. Jack couldn’t tell what he would do next.

 He loosens his grip to pull gasps out of the soldier, who delivers in a few deep gasps for breath. No. He would decide when Jack Morrison would go, and him alone. Today wasn’t that day.

 Gabriel Reyes leans over and presses chapped lips against Jack’s. Jack doesn’t know what makes him not reject it. The lingering want of nostalgia, or perhaps just a dull feeling of regret and of missing his friend.

 Had he not had the uniform in the way up to his jawline, Gabriel would have left him a mark or two to remind him that he would return, but the bruises from his hands would have to do. His grip loosens more as his concentration moves to deepening the kiss, being in charge and yet listening closely for the movement of combat to come closer. It’s only when Jack pushes back, returns the kiss, that he pulls away completely.

 Soldier: 76 sits up with the dirt of the asphalt peppering his jacket. He can hear the desperate feedback from his visor asking him to report. Out of a long forgotten force of habit, he actually tried to find where Reaper had gone with his good for nothing eyes before he found the visor and set it back into place. The only remaining evidence of him even being there is a wisp of black smoke, which disperses within moments. Like that, Gabriel was gone.

 War didn’t teach you how not to be a damn fool.


	2. Cowardly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if you're an idiot, and I'm an idiot, then who's going to be the one that stops this?

_What the hell is wrong with you, Gabriel Reyes?_

 It was only after he had pulled the entire squad from the fight and was miles away, heading back to Talon’s base of operations that Reaper asked himself that question. I didn’t matter how many times he asked himself that, though, Reaper knew the answer was everything. Everything and at the top of that list: Jack “Soldier: 76” Morrison.

 A few of the lesser soldiers could notice that there was something out of the ordinary with Reaper. Maybe it was all of the scowls and how he kept reaching under his mask to press his knuckles to the bridge of his nose; The extent of how much he would allow himself to emote his inner self-loathing at this moment. You stupid, cowardly man.

 _He was going to report this._ Another audible snarl and the pawns sitting in his nearest vicinity scooted away to give him space, no one wanted to be in arm’s reach of him when he was this angry. He cracks his knuckles to relieve stress, the popping unnerving everyone watching him have this small bout of anger.

Everyone in the convoy could not leave the vehicle fast enough when they finally arrived back at base. Reaper couldn’t even concentrate through the debriefing. He sat there, fingers twisted together and squeezing his own hands until his fingers hurt. How long had it been since they were seated in this conference room? Reaper glances at the wall clock only to realize that it wasn’t working. The commander at the front of the room opens his mouth to ask a question to him but the pleading expressions of the minor soldiers in the other seats makes him roll his eyes. Within minutes, they’re dismissed.

Even being able to go about his own business, Reaper still cannot find calm over the situation. He, a ruthless, capable, merciless assassin, choking at the finale. It was ludicrous.

 _This is going to get back to me._ He could only wonder how fast. Widowmaker passes him in the hallway, noticing how tense he is. With her own worries with Overwatch, or rather a particular member of it, she didn’t have time to be sure he stayed out of trouble in his own field. She folds her arms and tilts her head slightly as she regards him in what she thinks is the gentlest way she could.

“Perhaps you would be better off spending some time by yourself in your quarters, _non_?”

There is a mild look of surprise when he takes her advice. Not even a word out of him. How odd.

As the door shuts behind him, he takes his mask off and lets it drop to the floor with an unceremonious clatter, the memory of him removing Soldier: 76’s visor itching at the back of his skull with just that sound. And the moments after that. And then, finally, the kiss. Why the fuck had he kissed him?

 He rubs the bridge of his nose and drags his fingers over his brows, trying to relax. One of his own claws nicks him at the temple and he rips off the gloves, tossing them aside onto the floor as well. What was he going to do with himself?

What was he going to do when he eventually met Morrison once again in combat? Oh, hello Jack, would you like another kiss?

“Idiot!” He hisses in contempt of his own actions, slamming his fist into the wall. The wall, however, did not budge. His knuckles throbbed with a resounding agreement that he was in fact an idiot.

 _At this point all you can do is make it quick and get him out of the way_. But that was easier said than done. The last mission was such a disaster he wasn’t sure of the next time he would be sent out. He didn’t know if in the meanwhile something else would take out Morrison and leave him here like a chump outplayed by that son of a bitch again.

Now he was worrying about his safety? There had to be something wrong with him. He takes off his uniform and tosses it haphazardly around the room, most of it landing on the floor as he paced around or on the chair with his jacket. He glances in the mirror at his scarred face, slashes and pock marks and tired bags under his eyes.

“At least he looked as tired as I do.”

Reaper lets himself flop into his mediocre cot, which was still as messy as the rest of his quarters had been when he had left. A large sigh comes out of his mouth with a plume of black mist which he waves out of his face. Sometimes what he had become was more annoying than it was a burden or cumbersome. He didn’t get a lot of sleep with how odd and unnatural his body acted now, but it was still a requirement to be at least as alert as he needed to be in his missions.

Right now he was just tired. But he couldn’t sleep. Every time he shut his eyes that bastard’s face was there with a furrowed brow looking at him as he leaned in—

Gabriel Reyes spit every cuss he knew in both languages he spoke.

In that moment the two were probably sharing how tired they were with how foolish they both felt. Soldier 76 was jabbing at his dinner with his fork, a smaller version of his visor covering his face to free up his ability to eat while he sat at the table. Out of the corner of the view-field he could see Tracer coming in to keep him company.

“Welcome back, dearie.” That bright and cheerful voice as usual. Soldier: 76 manages to crack a smile even if he was stuck being a sour apple right now. Though with how old he was in comparison to most of the people in Overwatch he felt more like a grape. Tracer sits across from him with her plate. Shepard’s pie and a brownie for desert. “So how did that last mission go, eh? Anything interesting happen?”

Soldier: 76 lets out a rather amused snort and takes a bite of his own meal to stall answering that question. “You could say so.” He wasn’t sure if he should even mention Reaper, let alone being kissed by him.

“Is that all you’re going to tell me? I heard there was a skirmish after you went out on scouting. That you were gone for about twenty-five minutes without a peep!”

Ah, well he couldn’t just brush that under the rug, could he? “Yeah, I was in a little bit of a tussle. But I managed to get out of it with my neck intact.” He leans back a little in his seat. “It could have been worse.” He wasn’t a fan of not being truthful to her, but this wasn’t something you just share candidly. _Oh yes, Lena, the friend I thought died in an explosion tried to kill me today but ended up kissing me. You could say the two of us are going through a ‘rough patch’._

“Are you sure you’re okay? You came back with bruises on your neck and you’re favoring your left hand.”

 _Sharp as a tack, that girl. “_ My collar’s a little sore, so I’m just taking it easy.” He shifts his shirt just a little to cover the bruise on his clavicle. “Had a little bump, but it’s nothing I need to see Angela for.”

“Well don’t go getting yourself killed now, who would I eat dinner with if you were gone?”

“Winston?”

“Oh don’t be that way, love, you know what I mean.” She purses her lips at him. “You’re still a good friend of mine and we both know those are hard to come by these days.”

A wheezy little laugh comes out of the old man at the expression she gives him. He was just teasing her and she knew it, but the looks she gave him were always very cute. He can’t help the full smile on his face now and she looks very pleased to have brought him out of the fog. Lena starts to tell him the story about how her day had gone today. It’s a nice way to take his mind off of Gabriel, pushing the clock down later and later. Eventually he excuses himself to his own quarters. He might just be a number now, but he managed to secure his own room due to his ‘previous services’.

It was still small and more like a glorified walk-in closet, but at least he didn’t have to listen to his previous bunkmates’ snoring. Sometimes he thought that it was probably Angela and Lena pulling a few strings for him. Technically he should be in the bottom rung.

He looks at himself in the mirror in the corner of the room. For some reason it looked like Lena had decided not to comment on the obvious bruise around his neck. But maybe she just thought it was from the same thing that gave him the one on his collarbone. “Well she would be right…” He chuckles, but the smile quickly fades off of his face. “Goddamn this certainly went to hell in a handbasket.” He sighs. “Good grief what am I gonna do with myself…”

Soldier: 76 considered whether he wanted to take a shower today or tomorrow. If he went tomorrow he’d get a lot of looks like he was some kind of abuse victim. If he went today, he wakes up with bedhead. “The fuck do I even care, there ain’t too much there anyway.”

Today it was.

The showers were empty and quiet. Honestly the way that anyone who wasn’t a full on extrovert would prefer. He places his clothes and the towel he brought with him on a plastic backed chair left to hold commodities and towels. Sure it looked like a scene from a college university, but it was practical.

There isn’t a soul that interrupts him while he’s there. No one save for the memory of the Reaper himself kissing him. Christ why was he thinking about it now? Come to think of it, why did he even kiss the man back? He lets out another tired sigh and lightly touches his lips as his brow furrows, contemplating how foolish he was in even throwing mixed messages out there.

He turns the shower faucet off and towels his hair dry, wrapping the towel around his waist and returning to his quarters. When he presses the key into the door it pushes open on its own. Had he forgotten to lock it? He steps inside quietly and closes the door behind him, jiggling it to make sure it wasn’t jammed.

“Fuckin’ bizzare.” He murmurs, tossing his clothes into the bin and opening the drawer for a new shirt.

A hand grips him by the throat from behind with pointy talons and his breath stops in that moment.

“You know, attacking from behind has always been so cowardly, Reyes...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think their snark is starting to infect me.


	3. Apprehensively

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hate you. I swear I hate you. I swear I'm doing this because I hate you.

 Reaper didn’t know what was worse about this situation: How calm Soldier: 76— How calm Jack Morrison was, or the fact that of all the fucking time he had to come in it had to be with no clothing on. God had to be testing his patience because this was ludicrous. It didn’t take him long to feel that nagging regret on the back of his neck, but he squeezes his eyes shut behind his mask to rid himself of the idea. Get it together, Reyes. The rumble from his throat as he cleared it to speak managed to sound like he was completely in control.

 “For someone so vulnerable, you’re certainly calm.” The last word had such venom on it that it was almost tangible. The claws of his glove dig in a little. Jack winces as the point of one of the metal tips digs into his adam’s apple and he pushes at that finger gently to relieve the discomfort. Reyes allows it, but not without letting the other three squeeze tighter.

“It’s more like shock.”

 An angered 'tsk' comes from behind that white mask of Reyes’ as he digs in the claws and leaves little scratches behind. He didn’t want to be teased, or even want the idea of being toyed with in his mind. Jack can’t help a grunt as he tries to pull away without getting his throat sliced. There was only so much he could take standing still before he had to actually fight back. He squeezes Reaper’s gloved hand to keep them from digging in further.

 “I’m not going anywhere, let me get a shirt on and we can talk.” Jack tries to speak as calmly as he possibly could, considering the threat his neck was in. The practiced voice of a reasoner, of a negotiator. How many years had it been since he had been in this situation? Working his way up the ranks in hostage negotiation in Overwatch. He never quite learned to just turn off this kind of instinct; talking his way out of another mess. But this wasn’t his mess, he hadn’t fucked up. This was a Talon agent, dropping in. Completely alone.

 What the hell was Reyes thinking?

 What could he possibly be here for in the first place? It wasn’t like the few hours between the last time they had run into each other was long enough to make Gabriel Reyes any more predictable. He was still a chaotic impulse, worse than he was years ago. And with that damn mask on he couldn’t even read his expression. He tries to pull away only to be dragged back into place once more. The scowl on his face finally pulls a response from Reaper, but even that doesn’t answer his question.

 “I’m not here to talk, Morrison.”

 “Then what are you here for, to admire my back?” he can’t help the joke for old time’s sake, but the airy little chuckle that comes afterwards is cut off when Reaper releases him to give him a shove, pushing him up against the wall. Jack has to hang onto the towel to keep it from dropping. He grimaces, which only seems to put the confidence back into the Reaper. “Gabriel—“

 “I didn’t ask for you to speak.” The shotgun that had greeted Jack’s throat earlier in the day returns for a second date, and he tilts his head up just a little out of instinct.

 The room is completely silent except for the radio that was sitting on his nightstand. It was tuned to classical music, but ever so softly. Over the shock of coming back to company—‘company’ he’s calling it, ha—he didn’t hear the sound of what he knows is Ravel’s ‘Mother Goose’. Reaper must have turned it on while he was waiting. It took him back to the times that Gabriel was the one driving the convoy. The only thing he would listen to in order to decompress from stress was classical music, which meant Reaper was nervous.

 He was beginning to realize that he didn’t quite need to worry about the shotgun in his face. Gabriel was bluffing for some reason. Or at least he hoped that was an accurate assumption. Regardless, he would still approach negotiating with caution.

 He sighs quietly as he considers opening his mouth once more to try a little bit of talk.

 “You still listen to the classical station?”

 “You still walk back from the showers in nothing but a towel?” The response was defensive and spiteful, but pulls a small laugh out of Soldier: 76. He acted like everything was an attack on him personally even though he was the one intruding.

 “You got me cornered there, but you don’t listen to classical unless you’re trying to stay calm.”

 Reaper presses the barrel of his shotgun more firmly against Jack’s neck, causing him to swallow dryly again. A little more control back in his clawed hands. “You aren’t going to speak a word of what happened today.”

 Soldier: 76 raises his scarred brow. Was this why he was here? He practically laughs at the idea. “Now why the hell do you think I would ever bring this up? Do you take me for some kind of gossip, Reyes? There’s never gonna be a time that I just bring that up to anyone.”

 Before Reaper even has the chance to reply, there is a small knock at the door. Morrison could swear that he could see Reaper flinch just as he does. It’s Lena, checking in again. Well wasn’t that just convenient. After a moment’s hesitation, Soldier: 76 glances back at Reaper as he moves to threaten him with the gun and he raises a hand to let him know he could save it; it wasn’t necessary. Soldier 76 wouldn’t think of involving someone else in his own personal business in the first place. He slides away to move to the door and lock it. “Lena, I’m in the process of going to bed, hun. You can catch up with me later on.”

 A momentary pause as Lena asks him if he is sure. “Yes I am sure this can wait.”

 Reaper couldn’t hear a word coming out of Lena’s mouth. She was too muffled and talked much too quickly for him to hear her. He could only wait for Soldier 76 to hopefully just convince her to leave.

 “I’m fine, thank you for checking.” Jack replied, waiting for Lena to go, watching the doorknob as if she could still get in.

 “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 It seemed like it was enough to satisfy Tracer, who wished him goodnight and continued on down the hallway. There was a little itching question of why he just did that, but half of him didn’t want there to be a brawl while he was in a towel and the other half felt like he could handle the situation on his own, especially after the incident earlier in the day. There wasn’t too much that he felt Reaper would do besides try to save face from earlier.

 He can feel sharp points dig into his wrist and pull him back. The shotgun that had been in his hand was tossed away, and Reaper’s now free hand reached out for his visor again. What was he doing, trying for a repeat?

 “None of that shit again, hands off!” Jack hisses at him and gives him a strike in the face with his palm, practically knocking off the mask. He was not going to be nude and blind. He tries to take a step back onto to be tugged back by Reaper’s hold on his wrist. “Gabriel—“ He repeats as a warning, almost like a scolding.

 Reyes pushes him against the wall for the second time this evening and grasps him by the hair. He pushes his mask back and crushes his lips against the soldier’s once more. The movement is so fast and sudden that Jack doesn’t even catch more than an unfocused glance at the dark shade of Gabriel’s skin.  His other hand braces against Morrison’s shoulder, making sure he stays put.

 Jack recalls that the moment he kissed back, Reyes pulled away. There’s hesitation for him to even dare to push back at him. The first time was to deliberately challenge him, but he didn’t expect a second time to come around like this.

 Reaper pulls away just for a moment to gain breath. “I fucking hate you.”

 “Really, because from what it looks like— “

 Reaper has had more than enough of Morrison’s snide remarks. For the third time that day, Gabriel Reyes stole a kiss from Jack Morrison. For the second time today, however, Jack returned the kiss, and for the second time it surprised Reaper. His lips were still as chapped at the first time he had been kissed by Reaper, and he pushes back defiantly.

 One of Jack’s hands grips at the front of Gabe’s jacket. He can feel him lick his lips but there was nothing that would fix the scratch in this moment. Jack pushes again to get a breath of air and only manages to fill his lungs once before he’s pulled back in. Jack tilts his head a little and lets Gabe deepen his kiss.

 There’s a moment when Gabriel wanted to continue but the idea of falling into what Jack wanted managed to outweigh his want to keep him pinned back against the wall. He gives his lip a bite and then pulls away and turns to yank his mask back down. He tosses the clothes Jack had put down over to him to distract him.

 Jack rubs his lip to make sure it wasn’t bleeding and looks back over at Reaper as he puts on at least his boxers and undershirt. What a fucking mess. And Gabe was pulling him right in with it; or at least expecting him to pull him out of it. Jack notices that all he can hear again is the radio. He looks back at Reaper and waits for him to turn back.

 “You’re a real fucking piece of shit, Gabriel Reyes.” He growls at him. “Turn around and look at me already.”

 Hesitantly, Reaper turns back to him.

 “I mean without the mask.”

 There’s a chuckle from behind the mask, but Reyes doesn’t make a move to take it off. He wasn’t about to jump at Morrison’s orders. He wanted to push him to take what he wanted. And as much as he wanted to see Morrison get angry and jump for the opportunity, there was a sneaking feeling of apprehension. It crept up slowly and twisted in his chest like vines.

 There’s no hesitation when Jack pushes forward to return the favor and take it from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys noticed the chapter pattern name because I actively have to take time to think of them now.


	4. Drunkenly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

 Jack’s fingertips only curl around the edge of Reaper’s mask before both of his hands are stopped by the mercenary’s. The expression on his face mutes down to slight surprise at how oddly gentle Reaper was being considering how many scratches he was sporting from him now.

 There was a dull ache coming from a lot of them, and a stinging feeling in the rest of them. He wished that when Reaper had first snuck in that he had been a lot gentler but that would have been like trying to pull blood from a stone. The pursing of his lips is probably good indication to Reyes that he was slowly growing tired of playing cat and mouse with him, but the chuckle from under the mask is a clear sign that Reyes isn’t worried.

 “And what if I refuse? What if I pluck that visor from your face and put you against the floor?” One hand reaches out to tap on the visor and Jack uses his now free hand to swat him away.

“How blind I am isn’t gonna stop me from rolling my eyes at you, that’s for sure. Quit stalling.”

“ _Te crees muy muy_ , eh Morrison?” There’s a raspy laugh from under the mask, but the tone of voice, the mockery—is it even mockery or just light teasing? It all reminds him of a time long past. Reminds him how they could have been if they hadn’t taken each other’s hand and dragged themselves into hell one after the other. It leaves a dry feeling in his throat. He considers getting something to drink.

“You know I don’t have a damn idea what you just said.” Had things not all gone to shit, had they talked like grown men instead of blindly running into an easily avoidable situation. In the midst of his thought, Reaper reaches and lifts his chin. He practically tickles him with the points on his gloves, if you could call prickles ‘tickling’. He puts up with it for about a minutes before he smacks his hand away. “Quit screwin’ around and get your claws out of my face for Christ’s sake!”

 “Stuck in your thoughts now? _Estás haciendo pucheros?”_ He laughs. The potential of annoying the soldier with just small teases in another language was pure humor. “Didn’t you ever pick up anything in all the time we—“

 “Enough, Reyes.” He fully lets go of Reaper now, but Reaper doesn’t back away until Jack gives him a shove back. There’s a ‘tsk’ that comes out of Gabriel, almost like there’s disappointment. But he could stay damn disappointed for all the soldier cared for. Between the teasing, the scratches, the just plain showing up? Let him. Jack moves over to his bed.

"I need a drink." 

 Soldier: 76 reveals what looks like a nightstand is actually a small fridge. There’s a few beer bottles within and a half eaten package of peanut butter cups tucked on the door.

“You keep beer in here?”

“I get paid, don’t I? Do you want one or do you want to stand there like some kind of cheap decoration?” Jack twists the bottle open and flicks the tab at Reyes. Reaper catches it and throws it into the bin close to him, then steals the bottle out of Jack’s hand before he can even take a sip of it.

 “The only cheap decoration that’s in this room is that gaudy fucking jacket of yours.” He snaps back at him as he points at the ‘76’ emblem at the back of his jacket.

 “Fuck off. And if you’re expecting a straw to drink that with you better think again.” Jack opens a second beer and takes a full mouthful of it. He lets himself drop onto the couch.

 Gabriel lets out a loud laugh, reaching up to take off his mask, pushing it out of the way. He follows Jack over to join him. The voice alteration cuts off as the mask leaves his mouth. There’s a neutral expression on the soldier as he watches him. As Reyes leans back, he pushes the hood of his outfit away. There’s a deep scar going from his temple into his hairline, leaving a tilled line in his scalp. A second runs parallel to it, dangerously close to eyelid, straight through his right eyebrow. Reaper downs the entire bottle before he bothers to say a word again.

 “No comments? And here you were on a streak.” He reaches over to steal Jack’s bottle from him. Jack could fight him on it, but he chooses to let it go and relinquishes it to him. It must have made him feel like he won, because Reaper had a smirk on his face. Behind the visor, Jack rolls his eyes right in from of him and Reaper can’t even see it.

 He retrieves a couple more beers, just in case Reyes decides he wants a third. Before he knew it, both of them had emptied the fridge. _A damn shame,_ thinks the soldier. He taps his fingers against the bottle as he looks at all of his fellow dead soldiers lined up on the table. Dead soldiers, just like him, just like Reaper. Lived, worked, died. War doesn’t teach you how to leave them behind, or what to do when you were the one left behind. It looked like Reyes never quite figured it out, just like him.

 But the guy didn’t figure out how to bring himself to kill him either.

 He pulls his view away from the bottles to look over Gabriel’s face. He’d let his hair grow from the cropped style he always covered in a hat. The last several years must have introduced him to someone who actually had style. From the bareness of the nape of his neck, it looked like he’d just had it trimmed today. He’s a little disappointed that the other only had the beginnings of greys going up his sideburns, while he was here in full grey. The silence had gone on long though, and he clears his throat to make sure it still worked.

 “What were you hiding behind the mask then?”

 “I’ll let you know that when you tell me why ‘76’.” Reyes was always a bargainer. But the reason wouldn’t leave him, and there’s enough beer in his gut to keep him from thinking it over.

 “The date that they pronounced us dead.”

 “Ah...” It all made sense to him now. Reyes finishes off the last of his beer and leans over to place it on the table. He’s had a little too much to balance it out and it tumbles over before rolling to the other side and dropping to the floor.

 There is a silent agreement that neither of them were getting up to get the bottle right now. Once the bottle stops rolling, he addresses him again.

 “And?”

 “And what?”

 “The reason you wouldn’t take your mask off.”

 “Oh, that’s simple. I get to hold it over you. I also get to keep the smoke out of your face.” That answer was terrible and both of them knew it. Reaper knew that he’d gotten a far better deal and he had too much to stifle his reaction. It’s only when Reyes grins this time that he can see that the scars on the other side of his face give him a crooked smile. Part of Morrison thinks that that’s really the reason. But the ‘also’ didn’t make any sense.

 “Smoke?”

 Reaper exhales in a harder manner than usual. Black smoke billowed out from his throat. He manages to make a smoke ring out of it.

 “Christ, what a shitshow. You and me both.” He leans against his knuckles, elbow on the arm of the couch. At least he was inebriated enough to keep himself from thinking too deeply about it. Reyes laughs again, nodding. A yawn comes out of his throat, honestly tired now.

 “Come here.”

 “Why, so you can put me to bed?”

 “So I can get a better look at you now.” Reaper doesn’t wait too much longer and grasps his arm, tugging him across the couch. At some point in time, it looked like Reaper had been tired of his gloves, but he’d never seen where his jacket had gone.

 “Where did your coat go? You sure as hell better not think you’re staying here. I don’t have enough room for the two of us. I don’t give a shit how drunk you are.” A bare hand this time steals the visor off of his face and he grasps out to it, grabbing nothing but air. “Gabriel!” He growls, and reaches out further, his hand bracing on his chest. “Grow the fuck up and give back my—“

 Reaper pulls his arm back to put it out of Jack’s reach, but causes him to slip when he shifts, and Jack ends up on the floor. _Ah shit_. _Great work, Reyes._ “Shouldn’t have moved.”

 “Fuck you.” Came the retort from the cold floor.

 “Another day.”

 “What?”

 “Nothing. _Aquí es un poco de español para distraer la atención de lo que dije_.” Shut the fuck up, Reyes. “C’mere. Let me help you up.” He reaches down for him and grasps his hand. Soldier: 76 jerks a little when his hand is touched, but grasps it.

 And promptly pulls Reaper down on top of him.

 And immediately regrets this inebriated decision.

 “Urgh… you gain weight?” He tries to push him off but Gabriel decided to put more of his weight on top of him for that smart ass comment. Pinned there, Jack squirms and reaches for a bottle to bash into Gabriel’s head. Gabriel pushes them out of the way to keep weapons out of the situation.

 “What, your old ass too frail, _abuelo_?”

 “I know that means ‘Grandpa’, asshole!”

 “Oh, so you did pick up a little bit from me, then.” He leans over him and pushes Jack’s hair away, running his thumb over the scars on his lips, on one that would likely be from him, and leans down to kiss Soldier 76 again. Jack closes his sightless eyes; he can feel the cold of black smoke billowing from Reaper’s mouth. When it is so warm, the cold of ‘death’ certainly was relieving.

 “Jack Morrison, what am I going to do with you…”

 

 When Soldier: 76 wakes up the next day his throat is dry and sore, his head is pounding, and he is in his bed. He swallows, trying to get moisture to his throat. He needs water.

 He groans and rolls out of the bed, feeling something firm in his grip. In his hand is his visor. He vaguely remembered it being taken off of him. Or had he? He sits up and places the visor over his eyes. Red filled his vision and soon cleared into color. The table is completely clear. He starts to question vague memories from the previous evening. His shirt had ridden up overnight and he tugs it back down.

 “Ugh, my head…” He reaches for the glass on his nightstand and takes it with him, turning on the faucet and letting the glass fill. He’d had enough hangovers to know that aspirin just made it worse.

 “Gotta get some coffee after this.”

 He turns off the faucet and looks into the mirror as he takes a sip of the glass. There’s several red scratches on his neck. That he remembered.

 He didn’t remember the several red bruises that peppered his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference I have no background in any language besides english soooo  
> I'm sorry
> 
> Here's the translations:
> 
> "Te crees muy muy" - You think you're a badass
> 
> Estás haciendo pucheros? - Are you pouting?
> 
> Aquí es un poco de español para distraer la atención de lo que dije - Here is a little Spanish to distract from what I said.
> 
> This is becoming a slow burn I'm sorry.


	5. Classically

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's write a song. Let's remember ourselves. Let's break it down.

 Reaper was busy nursing a few new marks on his shoulders and neck from the previous night. He always could hold it better than Morrison could, he'd placed him into his bed and left his visor in his hand when he left in the morning. But it hadn’t been before he made sure to clean the room as if he had never been there. Blankets went back into the closet. A lamp was placed back on Morrison’s desk. The bottles went with him. It took him fifteen minutes to find his mask under the couch. Soldier: 76 slept as dead as Reaper had thought that he had been.

 Ah, stout, you cruel _bruja_. This is why he never bought you. You go down far too easily.

 He hadn't really expected to end up staying overnight, though there wasn’t much to worry about. But he had always been, and still always was, the one that woke up very early. Even on drinking days.

 Very early this time just happened to be 09:30.

 It was Gabriel who had called it quits last night at only kissing, he wasn't about to make this any more complicated than it already was. But he was also kidding himself. He was damned and here he was dragging the soldier along with him. He was already formulating an explanation if anyone had the guile to catch him on his walk of shame back into Talon territory. But anyone here that stopped him would not have the opportunity. They would just disappear.

 The peace on Jack's face as he left him there in his own bed was enviable.

 The return to his own headquarters, to his own hallway, to his own room was thankfully uneventful. Certainly Widowmaker had spotted him entering in, but the woman was smart enough to mind her own goddamn business. And just as smart not to make a report if she wanted his full cooperation the next time they had to operate together. He closes the door behind himself and sighs loudly, vents on the side of his mask allowing the dark smoke to billow out and into his room. He watches it dissipate as if it were never even there. He needed a shower.

 His clothes go in a heap behind him as he makes his way into the washroom. The mirror shows off the marks left behind on his dark skin by Jack. By Soldier: 76. He still couldn’t believe he downed 5 beers and left neck bites with his worst enemy. Old age must be catching up to the two of them if they were both this damn stupid. They weren't as noticable as he knew they would be against Jack's own neck.

 Being the kind of Schrödinger's cat that he was didn't save him from nursing his own regret over clearing out every stout that Morrison had cached in his room. If there was ever a question if the dead could get hangovers, he was the proof that they probably could.

 Reaper ruffles his short hair with the towel in his hand and tosses it over the back of a chair. Even a haircut didn’t make him feel fresh anymore even if the dead didn’t grow hair, even if the living didn’t plume smoke. Cleaning up didn’t make him feel like he was renewing himself. It was like prepping a corpse for burial.

 He looks at the radio on the nightstand and clicks it on. Dvořák. _From the New World_ sounded fitting right now. He’d turned it on at the end of the allegro.

 He tries to shake the memory of feeling alive last night as he lays on his bed, his eyes slowly sliding shut. The piece ends and the murmur of the host of the channel sets into the room.

_You still listen to the classical station?_

He sighs again.

 _The Lark Ascending_ is the next piece that the radio host announces. He drifts off slowly to the sound of violin.

He wanted to feel alive again.

 

 

There’s a long pause for Soldier: 76 before he decides to go out and get coffee for his hangover. There was a part of him that wanted to cover his neck but the other half of him reminded him that it was the middle of summer and a turtleneck would be even more suspicious. It was later in the day, and perhaps if he was quiet he wouldn’t be bothered.

He watches the mug fill from the machine and lets out a small sigh. There was little he could do now, but having a late breakfast wasn’t such a bad idea. Most had gone about their day now.

“Not a word.” He mentions to the lunchroom staff when he catches them looking at his neck. Like he would explain even if they decided to ask.

He takes his meal of an egg on toast with some oatmeal and looks over the sea of empty chairs. Perhaps for now he was in the clear.

“Hey!”

 But he’d forgotten that Lúcio enjoyed waking up later in the day when he had time off. And that he was just as talkative and friendly as Tracer. It was a shame that she wasn’t here to distract him so he could pull a quick get-away. Lúcio’s meal is just a protein shake and an apple, which he had brought with him when he entered the mess hall.

 “Whoa, Captain, what happened to your neck?” There it is. There’s the question. And it had to be Lúcio asking it. He tended to spread word without even trying. He could only imagine how long the countdown was now. “Did you… get it on with someone last night? My man! Good for you!”

 There’s a scowl from 76. This kid was acting like he won an award from getting marked up like this. “Keep your voice down.”

 “There’s no one here but us, Captain.”

 “I ain’t your captain, kid.”

 “Eh you kinda feel like it, you know? You’re the one around here that’s got your shit together the most.”

 Soldier: 76 does not make a comment on how inaccurate that is and instead takes a bite of his egg on toast before it gets cold. It was nice to hear that there were others that had such confidence in him but recently he felt like he was on a roller coaster ride.

 “So, you sly fox…” Lúcio starts, spinning the apple on the table. “Who got lucky with you last night? It looks like you had a great time with them.” The musician sips his drink to cover a goofy smile. Soldier: 76 picks up his mug as well, trying to let him know he wasn’t going to answer that. “A girl? Or a really kinky guy?”

 Soldier 76 chokes on his coffee. Lúcio raises his eyebrows. “Wipe that look off of your face, I’m not telling you _anything_.”

 “Alright, alright, I hear you. Wanting to keep it on the down-low, that’s cool.” He leans over a little and brings his voice down. “Though I really do feel it’s good for you. You got this air on you lately that I don’t think even music can pep up.” The old soldier wondered how many of his other associates thought this way of him. It didn’t matter. But it was a little heartwarming to know that there was concern.

 “Your genre just hasn’t ever been something that people my age listen to, no offense. Maybe you should try another one.”

 Lúcio laughs and takes a bite out of his apple with a shrug. “Well man that ain’t my fault! You gotta tell me what you like and I can mix it up just for you, Cap’. Maybe you can play it for your guy friend.”

 There’s a genuine laugh out of Soldier: 76, and Lúcio laughs along with him. The musician offers him his headphone with something called ‘electro-swing’. Whatever the fuck that was. The soldier declines. He mentions that he has a hell of a hangover and Lúcio gets right back into questioning him about his night last night. He manages to only get out of the soldier that whoever he was with last night, they weren’t there in the morning. So no, Lúcio would not be running into them later on. Lúcio insists on having him listen to the music. He tells him that it’ll make him feel better. Soldier: 76 doesn’t have it in him to fight him on that right now and takes the headphone, holding it against his ear. It reminds him of what his father used to listen to, bringing nostalgia to mind. He tells him that he likes it and the Brazilian types into his phone to save it for later.

 “You know if you run a brush over those they’ll go away faster. Learned that trick from a girl I grew up with. Dated her a for a few months too; It really does work.” Lúcio tries to throw the apple core into the waste bin from his seat, and misses by a foot. He lets his head roll back in exasperation, getting up to pick it up and throw it away properly. “I usually make that throw from here, I swear!”  Soldier: 76 runs his fingers over scratches on his wrist. His companion returns and sits back down. “I’d suggest you try it, though. I mean unless you want this little rumor to go viral and everyone finds out. I’ll do my best to keep my own lips zipped but those love bites are really noticeable.”

 Love bites was pushing it. Maybe Rivalry fueled marks was a better way of putting it. He could only imagine what he did to Gabriel. Hopefully it was just as bad but there wouldn’t be any ducking around for him if he wore that ridiculous get-up around the Talon headquarters. It was times like this he was glad that the mask part of his visor attached to the neckline of his uniform.

 Soldier: 76 looks at the last inch of coffee in his mug, the milk having separated in a thin line on the top of the drink. At least the hangover had gone away, but perhaps he could also attribute that to Lúcio’s music.

 Lúcio finally decides to get up and leave the older man in peace, waving to him and taking his container with him.

 “Classical.”

 Lúcio turns back. “What’d you say?”

 “If you want something that he’ll like for me. You want to take it from classical or jazz.”

 Lúcio salutes him with a playful grin. He'd squeezed just a little more info out of the old man. Just enough to satisfy his curiosity.

 “You got it Cap’.”

 


	6. Abruptly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should have done it while you still had the chance. I should have taken the opportunity while I still had the chance, too.

 Within the next couple of days, the marks had disappeared and with it, the rumor. What Lúcio had suggested that he do It had worked, but the news had still gone around in the day or two it took the remaining speckles of red to disappear. Generally, the consensus was that everyone was happy that the resident old man ‘got some’.

 He told them all to go pound sand. No one understood what that meant besides McCree and Reinhardt. McCree gets a good laugh because he hasn’t heard anyone say that since he still lived with his father. He spends another day explaining that he did not in fact go that far. At least he didn’t think so. It would be a shame if he did and didn’t remember.

 Tracer is disappointed in his lie to her. He would have been too. But she’s happy as well that there was someone that he was interested in.

 _If only she knew_. The lie that was twisting up was reaching out and dragging others in close now. Soon he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore from them. For whatever reason, though, it was like water off a duck’s back.

 “I don’t know if I would be able to call it being interested. It was more like a couple of bums fooling around. After that, it’s the same old story. I’m here to do my job, not pepper myself in hickeys.” He rubs at a thin line left by one of Reaper’s gloves on his wrist. It was the first time in quite some time that a new scar had been added to the list. Between Mercy’s healing skills and the healing kits that he brought with him when he was out. There wasn’t too much that was left over at the end of the day.

 “Why would y’ever think that, now?” Tracer pouts and folds her arms. “You won’t be doing this forever, Jack.”

Soldier: 76 sighs. “Lena, I may have thought that years ago, but I know now that I’ll die doing this job.” He’ll die protecting the world has he had before, and there would be a second damned statue of him and the rest of the thankless heroes that were with him now, that would come after he was gone, and that would come after those were gone too.

“I wish you wouldn’t think that way.” Her voice is quieter this time. She understood too that time wasn’t friendly for either of them. Not for those unstuck in time, not for those that should have died, not for those that died and then death marked ‘with return to sender’.

The second cup of coffee that he’s let sit until the milk rose to the top in the last three days sat in front of him as he and Lena had a long spell of silence.

“I appreciate that you and the rest of the people that work with me care. But we need to be reasonable. If I’m distracted, I’ll be useless. You know this yourself, Lena. You spend too much of your time chasing ghosts as well. I don’t need my ghosts to become romance.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Jack. Everyone also deserves to be happy. You included.”

 He squints behind his visor, and luckily she can’t see that. Sure in the terms of being groomed to be a monster, maybe monsters had a second chance. But there were some monsters that would stay monsters, too caught up in the thorns in their hides to seek having them removed. Some with the collars embedded too deep to take off without scars.

 Where was the line where killing stopped being vile and became heroic? As a vigilante, he figured he was somewhere in between.

 “I wish that were true, Lena.”

 “Oh bother, just think on it, will you?” She pats his hand and excuses herself, leaving him be. He stares down the cold coffee in his mug and uses the stirrer to mix it back together.

 He wondered how much longer it would be before this blew up in his face.

At least this time he had protection.

 Regardless he spends the last of his day off going to the general store and getting himself a new case of stout. He gets himself one of those chocolate and walnut covered vanilla ice cream cones as well. He hadn’t had one of these since he was a kid. It must be mighty weird seeing a scarred man in a mask buying beer and ice cream. The cashier looks really nervous. He thinks that it’s because of the mask. “Look, kid. I ain’t a crook, I’m just an old man buying some beer. You wanna close your jaw and ring me out or what?”

 The cashier’s jaw shuts and they start to ring him out. He folds his arms and watches them ring out his purchases. He sees a newspaper with an article on the new Overwatch cooperative splayed out on the counter for sale. He can see himself far in the paper in the mid-ground. But there’s more. He can see a cloak in the background. Was that Gabriel? He wished that the picture was clearer. Maybe he was just being ridiculous. Gabriel wasn’t keeping that close of tabs on him.

 “Sir? _Sir?_ ” The cashier repeated, pulling his view away from the newspaper.

 “What?”

 “Are you gonna buy that or not?”

 He figured he could brush through it when he got back, and tosses it onto the counter with his beer. He pays the kid and tucks the case under his arm with the newspaper, the ice cream in his other hand. He’d wait until he got back to have it. He still can’t brush the idea of Gabriel following him. He heads back to the base. He can’t help but watch behind him every now and then on the way back.

 There’s no one following him. He feels foolish for his paranoia.

 By the time he gets back, the entire station is already scrambling out for a mission. He wished his fridge had a freezer so he could save the ice cream for later. He has to gear up before he heads in to be briefed on the objective. He brings the snack with him but leaves the paper and the beer in his room. He doesn’t even have time to stick it in the fridge before he’d called to the meeting.

 This time the issue was Vishkar. This makes Lúcio particularly stiff. He pats the boy on the back to reassure him, but it doesn’t seem to help. He taps him with his arm to get his attention and gives him the ice cream as well and Lúcio gives him a raised brow back. He tells him that in a perfect world he wouldn’t have to give it away, but here he was going out on a mission. Lúcio thanks him for the ice cream either way and finishes it before they are even done with Winston’s explanation. He could have eaten it himself, but Lúcio looked like he needed it more. There’s an offhand joke about him being caring like a father again and he gives him a small push.

 The entire ride there, he’s stressed. Soldier: 76 watches him pick at hangnails on his hands until his nails start to bleeding.

 “Why don’t you show me some of that music you showed me the other day and we can both relax?” He offers. If that didn’t put the spark back in that boy, nothing would. He takes the bait and it looks like the idea of getting the old soldier to listen to something new is a great distraction. Tracer looks over at them from her seat and scoots over.

 “What were you listening to?” she chimes in, interested in what they were talking about now that 76 was in a much better mood before he went out for his beer run. Both of them are on either side of them now. Lúcio hands him his player and puts on the music.

 “Electro-pop. Captain here seems to be fond of the stuff you can dance to.”

 “I told you that I’m not your captain, Kid.” It’s a scolding, but with a bit of a chuckle sneaking in. Lúcio smiles, but the nickname is here to stay. There’s at least one ‘Oh Captain, my Captain’ joke on the way there. Soldier: 76 comments on how there is nothing relevant between him and that character. Tracer says that she would beg to differ, but tells him how is for him to figure out on his own.

 The convoy comes to a stops in their destination. It’s a decent sized city, but they were warned of Vishkar setting up shop along with another local gang. It looked like Vishkar was here to try what they had with Rio, but with Lúcio determined to keep them in their own range, Overwatch’s objective was to secure anything that might fall into the wrong hands of this gang.

 _The last thing this already infected city needs is tech they don’t understand and could exploit._ Soldier 76 could only think back to his last visit to Dorado, how the Los Muertos were now trying to extend their range and influence like a blight to leaves of neighboring plants. The sound of thunder rolls in overhead. It was going to rain.

The beginning of the evening goes smoothly, even as the rain begins. Soldier: 76 just wanted this over before he became a glorified sponge. The rest of the team agrees, and gears up to go. The raid of the warehouse where Vishkar was caching went off effortlessly, but Tracer picks up on some activity from her point. They had spread out to better have a view of whoever might be coming in. Soldier: 76 was assigned to the rear of the convoy.

A loud sound catches his attention from down the side of the warehouse. “Go on ahead, I’ll check this and catch up with you. That pallet needs to stay safe.” Slowly, he makes his way down the side, checking to see if someone had come to investigate.

The rain is miserable. There’s a warning before Soldier: 76 can hear the peppering of fire on the next street. He dashes to meet up with his teammates, they had to get the fuck out of here before the weather

 A shot flies out and then another rings out after it. And another. He couldn’t tell where it came from. Thunder sounds again and he can’t place the location of any audio. He pulls up his visor’s sights to find them. Within moments another attacker is on him, and he ducks behind cover. Where were all these goons coming from?

“I’m going to need some backup here!” He calls into his commlink. Static screams back into his link. Was that a jammer? _Fuck_. He leaves cover to dash for a nearby dumpster and sneak out into the street.

 There was a sharp bloom of pain that passes through his body. His hand touches it immediately and pulls away wetness; darker red against his gloves. Where had it come from? A second shot whizzes by his face and he nearly stumbles as he hurries to cover. The pain filling his chest is overwhelming, but it looks like the bullet had passed completely through. That meant no shrapnel. He was going to need Mercy when he got back. All he could hope is that it didn’t hit his organs. He calls into his link again.

“Kid, Tracer, where are you?” He coughs into the microphone.

A garbled response comes back to him. The shots sounded even further now. The skirmish was migrating away from him. He had to keep going. The lights of the street go out from the storm, and he is left with only the light on his rifle. He can’t make heads or tails of where he is. A second shot hits him in the leg and he cries out in pain.

 His chest feels tight and he can feel the ability to breath become more and more difficult. He stumbles down to his knees and braces against the ground. There are footsteps approaching him, and even though he knows they are approaching, the feeling of blood pumping through is ears muffles them. Another shot knocks his visor off his face, he can feel the burn of an abrasion wound from the bullet.

He holds his face and cusses, dragging himself behind cover blindly. Is it even cover, or would it just be a prop for his body in a few minutes. His ears are ringing again, but he can still hear the distinct sound of shotguns. His visor is out of his reach.

 The feeling when you lose so much blood leaves you heavy. Soon he can’t even lift his hand. He can’t reach his revitalizer. He couldn’t call for backup, But those trying to reach him weren’t there yet. He was going to bleed out here on his own. It was terror just like the first time he had had this experience, but he was so heavy that he couldn’t feel the adrenaline. It was a slow creep down into the darkness that was already there. He could only smell blood and rain.

He thinks of Gabriel. “Looks like you’re not going to get to do it yourself, Reyes.”

The sound of boots in water comes up to him.

He feels hands on him, he feels himself being lifted.

And then nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to AlmaMeDuele.


	7. Torrentially

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But I’ve a rendezvous with Death  
> At midnight in some flaming town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this one is rather violent.

 Rain had become one of those very particular situations that made simply existing difficult for Reyes. The feeling of it hitting his shoulders made him ache, and unnerved him making him feel like he could lose control and become a wraith. He tightens his coat to keep his shirt under the uniform from getting damp. The operation was simple. Cut off Overwatch at the pass and pilfer whatever it was from Vishkar they took. Make sure it doesn’t fall into the hands of the local thugs. Widowmaker came with him today.

 “What we’ll do is I will have you follow up with their pick-up point with the ones you’re in charge of. The squadron and I will start from the warehouse and push them to your location. Don’t bother killing them all. I’d rather get out of here while I’m still solid.” He couldn’t think of a way to tell her that the one with the mask is _his_. There’s nothing he can do but have faith in him to survive as he had time and time again like a determined cockroach.

 “And what exactly happened to make you this soft today, _mon loulou?”_ She teased lightly. Behind his mask, Reaper narrows his eyes. Pet names weren’t anything that he was fond of, much like Soldier 76. But a pet name from Widowmaker wasn’t in endearment, it was to be condescending. She was ruthless, as much as that brunette twerp tried to break her out of it, he knew it was a play. Operatives didn’t just leave Talon, and not the ones that were made for this. He joined in, but there was nothing there that was keeping him here permanently besides the common goal of power. Widowmaker would be stuck here until they put her down like a lame racehorse. Pity.

 “I don’t like the rain.” This wasn’t a lie.

 “ _Peut-être un meilleur nom pour vous serait chat noir.”_ She teases. Gabriel knows just enough to understand ‘better name’ and ‘black cat’. He scowls again, pulling a chuckle from his partner. “But I must agree. This is not the place to extend a fight with multiple agents of Overwatch.”

 “Let’s make this quick then.”

“Where did you go, by the way? The last time that we crossed hairs with these people. You did not return until the next day.”

“Do you think I am obligated to answer you?”

“Do you have something to hide?” Now she was being persistent.

“I had some catching up to do; something you don’t have the ability to. That is all I will say on the matter. Drop it.”

 She tsks, turning away to make sure the adjustments on her rifle were up to her expectation. “ _D'une manière ou d'une autre,_ do not let your distraction interfere with us.”

 “I don’t plan on it.” He turns sharply and barks at the squadron that is assigned to him to get in line and move out. He can feel her eyes on him even as he steps away. There’s a crawling feeling up his back like spider legs. He grits his teeth. He could feel scrutiny from Talon coming down on him already. Jumping ship might be ahead of him now. Going back to being a mercenary was sounding more and more preferable. Wouldn’t that be interesting; being an enemy of good guys and bad guys.

  _What a joke._

 Reaper pulls his weapons into his hands at the very first sound of gunfire. This would indeed be interesting. Lightning flashes across the sky and a crack of thunder follows along with it.

 Within a few moments, they were upon a few Vishkar employees. What did this company arm them with? Pellet guns? They’re all too easy to break through. One tries to take him hand to hand. He grasps his shotgun by the barrel and smashes the hilt of the gun into their skull a few times until they fall to the ground. He drops it and replaces it. One of his troops takes a bullet in the neck, and he watches them bleed out on the ground. He steps into the shadow and out of it behind the Vishkar operative. He relieves them of the back of their skull with a single blast and lets them drop to the floor in a fanfare-less slump.

 A line of fire from another set of enemies breaks through. Who the hell were these guys? They looked like the local cretins, small fry, but possibly deadly.

 The lights dim down at the next flash of lightning before they flicker and shudder out. But he works well in the dark, and with equipment to see, so does Talon agents.

 Like that, the skirmish ends. He can hear them all group together and he comes down from the story of the building he is on to see what they’re speaking about.

 “Damn shame on this one isn’t it?” One of them laughs.

 “Pick him up and see if he had anything worth taking.”

 “The rifle’s a nice touch.”

“Damn shame that the coat took a bullet. Could get it repaired, though.”

 The squeeze in his chest makes him almost choke at a familiar color. He starts towards the five of them. He takes both shotguns into his hands. Reaper watches them lift the soldier to rid him of his jacket. There’s a pained sound from the downed man. He can feel worry erupt into rage that really makes him feel like he was living.

“He’s still alive.”

“He won’t last. Let’s put him out of his misery.”

 Reaper can’t even get words out of his mouth. He watches a rifle raise from one of them He steps into the shadows once more and out behind the four men that were standing above the fallen soldier.

 Death blooms for three men. One of them is not Jack Morrison. The sounds of shotguns greet the sound of thunder, booming with rage and indignation. One. Two. Three. Four. Three down. The last one is on the floor, bleeding from the close range splay. If it stopped there, he could have almost called it luck. They try to drag themselves away. They try to call for back-up, but there is a jam in the signal. Now _that_ is luck. Gabriel laughs at him. The shock has them shaking as they look up at Reaper. They ask why. They ask what would bring this on. For just a man none of them even knew.

 Reaper doesn’t have to answer that. Death takes him as well. With the barrel of his gun. It takes ten strikes, and he gives him five more for good measure. Gabriel is left with the lives of four men taken in vengeance. The rain helps wash the blood splatter off of his mask and he realizes how heavily he’s panting. _It’s over. Get up._

 The shotguns fall from his hands as he kneels around the crumpled soldier. His jacket is tinged in a webbed design with blood and water. It pools around the rest of him. He pulls one of his gloves off to check his pulse. It’s faint. But it’s still there. He realizes his hands are shaking and he squeezes his hands into fists to calm himself. “You damn idiot. Did you think that you’d steal what I wanted one more time for good measure?”

 What was it that he wanted, though?

“Did you think that you would be able to cheat death? Did you plan on missing your rendezvous with me, Morrison, and go on ahead? That’s not how you rendezvous with death, you damn goody boy scout.” Talking to him was the only thing keeping him calm right now. Everything else had fallen away.

 Of course the unconscious man couldn’t answer him, but he can fill in the answers himself. ‘Did you take long enough, Reyes? I wouldn’t have kept going if you were faster.’

 _It doesn’t matter, I wasn’t late._ He looks him over to see where the wounds were. One though the calve, another through his back and out his side. Survivable if he got proper treatment.

 But he couldn’t just bring him to the point. Not only were the Overwatch operatives there, but the rest of his own convoy. Jack wouldn’t make it regardless of whether or not they won. It would take too long. He had no faith in that patchwork hero bullshit to get it together and fight off Talon again.

Was he hoping they’d survive?

The only solution is to wait until it blew over and… well then he’d have to figure out what the best option from there. But right now bringing him to a fight wasn’t going to be an option.

 He had a safe-house nearby. The effort from shadowstepping with more than one person so far leaves him panting and exhausted. He pulls himself together in almost a literal sense. He opens the door and brings the wounded warrior inside carefully. Morrison’s blood makes his jacket darker. You would think that he was the one that had been bleeding. The barrack is one from the older days of Overwatch, forgotten and dusty and most importantly, safe and dry. He picks up Morrison and the other man makes a groan of pain. There’s a light red tinge to his greyed hair, and his visor is missing. “I’ll go back for that later.” When it was light.

He rids Jack of his jacket, hanging it on what used to be a weapon rack. His joins it in dripping dry and pooling water around the floor. He has to cut the pant leg off of his calve to get at the bullet wound.

 He finds the medical field generator in Morrison’s pack and turns it on, placing it next to him while he searches for a medical kit he had placed before. He had to at least stem the bleeding in him if he was going to take a trip to see Angela.

 He at least gets Morrison patched up. Gets the bullet out of his calve and wraps it up tightly to pressure it. “Good thing he’s unconscious. He won’t get to complain about the musty smell of this cot.” He places him in the cot and the field shorts out. He picks it up and smacks into it to get it running again. The bleed into the gauze stops, but Reaper knows that that’s only going to last for as long as the field kept running. How many of these did he have on him? He digs through Morrison’s pack again. Six. Maybe enough to get him through the evening if he jerry-rigged them to constantly be going. He starts up the generator that he had stowed away and picks open the shell of the field generator. How long had it been since he wired one of these? Too long. It takes him a lot longer than he would have preferred. But he manages to get the line hooked up to the generator.

 He doesn’t sleep that evening, too busy waiting out the storm, waiting for Morrison to wake up, waiting for the field to burn out and him having to replace another one. Light comes quickly with all of the stress weighing on him right now.

 “You piece of shit, Jack Morrison.”

 He just wanted anything but this. He just wants him to live. He wants to fight with him again. With fists, with guns, with tongues. He just wanted to hate him as much as he always did. He wants to be stuck in a perpetual cycle with him, a couple of strays chasing each other’s tails. His wants are outside of what he’d told himself he would do before. That he would take his time and pick the moment that he would put it to an end. He wanted to be the death of that man for as long as he could remember for the things he had put him through without even being spiteful to him. But here he was with the thread and he was holding away the shears. He’d choked. He’d misfired.

 But they had both survived, hadn’t they? He was wrong. They were both a couple of cockroaches.

 He fucking hated this man. But he couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t quit.

 Reyes sits in a chair facing Morrison and runs his finger over the abrasion across Jack’s cheek. Would that last?

 He had to go get his shotguns and the other man’s visor, otherwise he’d be stuck with a blind man and have left evidence behind that Talon could pick up on when they realize five of their own had mysteriously disappeared. If he had them back he could just blame it on the local rabble they’d taken care of and let this all roll over. He sets up another of the altered fields and gets his gloves and coat back on.

 Reaper idles a little while longer, just to make sure that the field didn’t go out. He was down to two left now and he would have to make a move soon. More importantly he needed to figure out his exit when he did show up at Gibraltar again.

 The silence is killing him as he places his mask back on. He wished he had a radio so that he could kill the silence with something besides the whir of that generator.

 He exhales fully and a plume of black escapes through his vents. He watches it slowly dissipate. Procrastination finally leaves him and he leaves a note on the back of the chair in case the idiot woke up. Two big black words in a permanent marker.

_‘Stay there. -R’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon loulou - basically "wolfy". Playing on how Reyes prefers both working in the lone manner and being rather vicious.
> 
> Peut-être un meilleur nom pour vous serait chat noir. - Perhaps a better name for you would be black cat.
> 
> D'une manière ou d'une autre - in one way or another
> 
> I speak only a little french so I did my best and also relied on google translate. Also Sinderlin helped because they read it first.


	8. Resolutely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever pushed yourself this hard? Did you ever think it would be for this?

 Returning to the scene of the previous evening’s skirmish gave further light on what had transpired, but again, the weight of stepping into the shadows was leaving him feeling spent. He hadn’t felt this way since the first time he used that part of his newly acquired curse. He looks around the warehouse to get a better look at exactly what happened. He would want to know. Jack was too detail oriented, but Reaper wanted to know as well. Bodies were the best way to see previous events. He felt like some kind of bleak detective from a trashy comic. Reaper remembered wanting to go into forensics before ending up in Blackwatch; oh how he had been so proud to climb the tower, to push for leadership. Oh how spiteful he was to have been chosen over when he gave everything that he was.

 The attack on Soldier: 76 had been from Vishkar operatives and another flank from the city’s local gang, but none of the shots had been from his own. With how many different angles enemies were targeting him, Soldier: 76 hadn’t stood a chance to escape. The lack of lighting probably had spared the soldier when his own squadron had positioned themselves to follow Overwatch and ended up in the line of fire. There was only so much luck that man could have before it cost him his life.

 But it wasn’t just luck. He could have just let him die and be done with it. Instead he was here holding him off from the Styx. Death decides when it’s time, and today was not his day.

 He looks around for the visor. He’d seen it the last time he was here, but in his hurry to get away, he’d left it behind. Living was more important than being able to see for the older soldier right now. He spots both of his shotguns abandoned in a mix of blood, dirt and water, and he lifts them from the ground.

 Normally he would have just left them there to corrode away in the filth, a calling card of him being there, but in this case keeping Talon from knowing that he was in the middle of a heel-turn in his alignment was the better option. It would keep them thinking that perhaps it was just the Vishkar or the local blight. A small ping catches his ear and he finds the visor under the arm of one of the stiffs. He pushes them over to get at it and shakes the water from it. At least it still worked. He pushes his own mask away from his face to look into Jack’s. Getting an idea of what he saw was something that had been poking at the back of his mind.

 The view in the visor starts off in the mix of orange and red that the outside view showed. He couldn’t imagine that this helped at all. A few quiet beeps ring out and the view inside of it focuses and adjusts to the new user specifications, showing a much clearer image in color, and actually clearer than Gabriel could see without it on. He must need glasses.

 A notification pops up in the bottom corner of the screen. ’[17] New Messages.’ How the hell did he check these, though? He tries tapping the side of the visor, the message pops up. It was from the previous evening. Must have been just before the scuffle.

_‘For that guy friend of yours that liked classical. It’s no Mozart but I think you’ll like the beat ;)’_

 How does he close out of this? It was in the way of him seeing. He struggles to get out of the message view and instead the music file that was waiting in the attachment began playing from the commlink. It’s classical, but definitely from new age classical, almost swing, and a powerful, energetic beat. Violin was the concentration. His favorite.

 He’d never heard this one before. It would do to help him clear his head and concentrate on something besides his own thoughts.

 Reaper lets the song play quietly through the speaker as he picked up his shell casings. He looks at the trail of blood that led to the dumpster that Jack had been leaning against.

 He places one of the bodies there to hide the missing one.

 There’s a point in the song that he can clearly hear the influence of Jazz. Jack’s favorite. Saxophone and violin dueling together in a song that was energetic and friendly but at the same time, serious. There’s a dance and a duel drifting through his mind and pulling him back into the past. He remembers times that he and Morrison were actually companions. Almost partners. Was it normal for spite to be mixed in with nostalgia and want? Before he can even push the thoughts away to listen to the song once more, the song is over. He tries to play it again. The visor instead deletes the message and he actually curses in frustration.

There’s a feeling of emptiness in his chest. He tries to tap to the deleted folder, but it looked like there was none. It was gone for good. He purses his lips and reaches up to pull the mask from his face.

 The message center pops up again.

_‘Where are you?’_

_‘Report in.’_

_‘Please.’_

_‘Where are you??’_

_‘Are you okay?’_

_‘Respond!’_

_‘We’ll come for you, where are you now?’_

 Reaper wondered if this system showed when messages were read on the end of the sender. It at least did not show on his side. Reaper can’t find the respond option to at least send an ‘alive’ message and messing around with this piece of junk was just pissing him off now. He yanks the mask off and tugs his own back onto his face, pocketing the visor before he finishes placing the bodies. The water dispersing the blood makes it easy to position them in separate areas in a way that was believable and not so congested. His gloves are soaked with water and blood again, and he runs them in another puddle to at least wash away most of it.

 This would have to do.

 He has to take a seat for a few minutes after stepping into the shadows this time. Soldier: 76 still hasn’t regained consciousness. There’s no point in trying to wake him. With so much blood loss he would probably be incoherent anyway. How was he even going to get him there? He knew the location from his own sources, but leading Talon would just be a death trap.

 There is a sputter of electronics dying as he watches the field push its last legs and then fizzle out with no hurrah. Great. Even less time that he had to think this through. Reaper was good at working under pressure but it had been a long time since the thought of a life being involved had any weight on him.

 He tries to set up the last one. There’s a spark, but no field. He smacks the side of it a couple of times and still nothing. _Shit._

 He can already see the blood starting to bleed into the already browned spot on the other man’s chest where the wound already marred the gauze. He gathers Soldier: 76’s coat and tucks it back around him. He was going to have to bring him to Gibraltar now. And he couldn’t just use the convoy left over by his squadron. There was a GPS tracker inside to keep tabs on the vehicles and even if he was to disable that, it would be too damn slow to get there in the first place. How far could he jump in one go, though?

 “Jack you are fucking lucky I’ve already spent so much time on saving your sorry ass.”

 He steps into the shadows, fixating on a place he once knew very well. He’d never pushed himself like this, and he already knew how much it took out of him just getting to where they were now, but he didn’t have time to think. It was go now or let him slip away.

 It’s not far enough. He ends up nowhere near his destination, instead on a long barren stretch of highway in a patch of land so choked for life that there was little vegetation that managed to survive. His muscles are tense and there’s a soreness already creeping up his back. He inhales deeply and has to jump again, and again. It takes three full jumps to get anywhere he recognized. He can feel his body trembling from the effort. Reaper drops to his knee, sweat dripping down his face behind the mask. How much further? He had to wait a few moments. He just needed a breath. His mind is screaming at him to get up, to be resolute. To get him there.

 When he can feel wetness seeping into his wrist, that alone pushes him to jump once more. He can see it now, but he can’t imagine that he could push himself into the shadows anymore. He picks himself and the injured soldier up. There’s someone further down, looking over the bridge. But too far to notice that he was there. There was no way he was making it there on foot, who was he kidding? One more. Just one more. He has just enough to make it a little closer.

 As he steps out a final time, Jesse McCree drops his cigarillo in shock and holds onto his chest like he’s trying to keep his heart from popping out into the atmosphere. The man hadn’t changed, he was always shit for keeping vigilance. “Good fuckin’— _What in the blazes_ —“ Reaper can hear him inhale sharply as he catches the sight of one of his allies in Reaper’s clutches. “ _Shit_ —“

 Within a moment he has his commlink on. “Angela? Angela— it’s Jesse. I need assistance at the front now—No it ain’t a damn attack, it’s 76!— I— Look, I don’t have time to explain it, you need just need to get down here!”

 Reaper can’t hold his knees up anymore, and kneels. McCree hurries over and is hissing through his teeth as he tries to figure out what he can do while he waits for Angela. Reyes’ hold tightens on Soldier: 76 even though it’s in the presence of on of the man’s own allies. “I ain’t even gonna ask what the hell happened here but—“

 “McCree save the talk and press on it before he bleeds out and I fucking _kill you_.” Reaper’s voice sounds as pained as his body is right now, so much so that the threat is empty aside from desperation. He feels like his body is coming apart in flames and has to brace one hand on the ground. Jesse complies, getting the soldier’s blood on his hand and pulling a pained sound from Morrison as he puts pressure on the wound. Gabriel feels nauseous as he tries to keep himself together. He can see others approaching them now. The last person he wants to see is Ziegler. He pulls away, leaving Jack on the ground with the ingrate. McCree looks up at him like he’s crazy.

 “What are you taking off? You look like you’re on your last legs!” Reaper doesn’t respond, taking a few staggering steps away. He wondered if he had one last jump in him to get away from this in-coming shit show. “Angela—you’re gonna need to hurry because Reaper doesn’t look any good either.” Reaper could hear her in his mind now. _‘What is he doing here?’ ‘Why is he here?’_. “I don’t know—It beats the fuck outta me, but he brought him here in that smoke trick of his. Guy looks like he’s going to pass out—“

 “Can’t just keep your mouth shut can you, brat? I’m not here to be poked at by the quack.”

 “You are fuckin’ insane, Reyes. I might not be on your side anymore but I ain’t cruel enough to let you kill yourself. If you think you’ll be fine leavin’ you are outta your goddam mind.”

 “You’re soft.” He laughs lowly. He stumbles and Jesse takes the Peacekeeper from its holster, he points it at him and Reaper looks down the barrel fearlessly.

 “Don’t make me take a shot at you, Reyes. I won’t shoot to kill but I can put you on the ground.” Was this really his best attempt at stalling him?

 Reaper laughs at the show of intimidation, the movement of his chest actually hurt and he presses his hand against it to try to stem the ache. Did he really think this was going to make him stop from leaving? “I’d rather do without a holding cell today, McCree. You remember being incarcerated, I’m sure you understand.” Smoke pools at Reaper’s feet and he can feel his hands shaking in pain and effort to stay together. His fingertips were smoke already. But he wasn’t trying to jump yet. This was just happening. He inhales sharply and tries to concentrate. Keep it together, Reyes. Keep it together.

 _“Gabriel!”_ A woman’s voice. Angela. He looks out to see her dashing towards them. The gorilla is with her. His eyes won’t focus, but those two were unmistakable.

 _Just fucking peachy, the gang’s all here._ Time to go. He takes another step back and his head spins. He tries to step into the shadows once more. Instead he missteps and he feels himself falling, grasping for nothing, a sharp pain as he hits the ground.

 He feels arms on him.

 And then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to put a little more detail in these chapters. I swear.


	9. Translucently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I looked Death in the face last night  
> I saw him in a mirror  
> And he simply smiled  
> He told me not to worry  
> He told me just to take my time
> 
> (We Close Our Eyes - Oingo Boingo)

 Gabriel wakes to the sound of conversation around him. Most notably, everything he had been wearing had been removed and replaced with a simple pair of pants and a shirt, including his mask. The invasion of his personal space itself already had him on edge and he was ready to target anyone who was there. He looks around his surroundings.

 This is a medical bay. And it wasn’t in Talon. Of course it wouldn’t be in Talon, he never went back. He sits up with a groan and Jack and Angela both regard him .

 “So you’re awake.” Angela comes over with a small flashlight to look in his eyes and has him open his mouth so she can look down his throat. He pushes her away with a scowl. “Please be cooperative, Gabriel, this will only take a minute.” Her hands are swatted away again regardless of her persistence.

 “I don’t need a check-up for passing out for a few hours.”

 Her eyebrows raise and that told him that he was cutting it short before she even responded. “A few hours? Gabriel it has been three days and—“

 “ _Three days_? What? Don’t fucking lie to me.” That was ridiculous. Sure he had overworked himself to exhaustion, but three days? He looks over at Jack, who has been watching quietly. “How long has boy-scout been awake?”

“Boy-scout?” There was a small grumble of contempt at that name from Soldier: 76.

 “I am not lying. It has been three days since you came here with John and the two of you have not woken up since. John regained consciousness yesterday evening. But I have not let any of the others know as to not disturb your rest or their sleep. The last we need is a building full of tired agents.” She examines his hands, but he doesn’t know why she would even need to. The look of concern on her face even when she finds nothing is unnerving. He pulls them away when he thinks there’s been enough time for her to see that nothing was wrong with his hands. “I have to commend you on your treatment of him. Though you could use some work on proper suturing.” An airy little chuckle comes from Angela, but it sounds very nervous at the same time. “We were discussing how long you would stay. We both believe that you should stay until we are sure there are not any more issues like when you first arrived.”

 “I don’t need you to do any more than you already _have_.” There’s poison in those words, implications that ran deep, and spite for previous bad blood, but Angela does not budge for a moment. Her resolution as a doctor kept her from wavering at the venom of an old ‘friend’.

 “Do not be so difficult. I will have some food sent up to you. Since you are deciding not to listen to what I need to tell you right now, we shall discuss this at a different time.” And that was the most that Angela would allow. She leaves through the door and out to have some food prepared.

 As much as Gabriel would like something to eat, to lay back down and let himself relax, knowing that he would eventually flee here was making him anxious. His mind wandered to where he would go following this. There were plenty of caches and safe-houses that he could use regardless of whether or not he got his belongings back. He didn’t need them to be him. There was almost a blood-like taste in the back of his throat, probably the closest thing to tasting adrenaline he would come to knowing.

 Damn though, did it make him feel alive.

 There is a knock at the door as Tracer comes into the room to greet Jack. She and Reaper both mutually avoid looking at each other. Lena tells Jack that she’s so glad that he’s awake because there wasn’t a damn way that she could handle his garden. “There’s too much for one me and I don’t know how to handle plants!” Jack looks like she’s speaking another language to him.

 “What do you mean you can’t handle a garden, Lena? You spray it with water twice a day and you don’t soak the plant because then the sun will burn it.”

 “Dearie, I am a pilot, not a planter.”

 “Hopeless is what you are.” He laughs at the pout that she pulls. “It’s okay, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Have McCree help you with it while I’m up here. He’ll enjoy it; And if he doesn’t, too bad.”

 “He’ll be up here to complain later, I’m sure. He’s too busy trying to show off.”

 “Tell him I told him to quit screwing around and give me a hand. I got shot twice, I just want a little help so my tomatoes will grow—which I know he steals for snacks, by the way, that sneak thief.”

 By noon, Gabriel was already tired of listening to all of Jack’s visitors. It was basically everyone in the entire building. Leave it to this curmudgeonly old man to have just enough gold in his heart to have this many sheep following him. Part of his mind reminds him that Morrison wasn’t a commander anymore. He was just another soldier. Specifically, a vigilante. They were the same, except Gabe got paid more being a hired mercenary.

 Well he wasn’t getting paid anymore being stuck in a bed like this.

 “Cap, you was worrying me sick, I couldn’t sleep! I can’t believe you’re still with us, I’m so glad you’re okay, man! I’m so sorry, I should have stuck by!” The apologies just keep spilling out of the young man’s mouth as he hugs Morrison without even asking. Jack honestly seems surprised at how tight of a hug Lúcio gives him. He rubs the boy’s back. He’s stiff. He could only imagine it reminded him of losing someone in his own family.

 “Easy, you’re going to pop open my wound again.” He warns softly. Lúcio eases up on him but it’s still obvious that he’s upset. The old soldier tries to be comforting. “It takes a little more than that to kill me.”

 Reaper scoffs from under his pillow. “Really because if I hadn’t been there, the strike force I was leading would be fighting over who got to wear your god-ugly coat.”

 Both men look over at Reaper, who realizes that he had said that out loud. An open admission that he had gone out of his way to save Soldier 76. Well it wasn’t like he could retract that now. He just keeps his head under the pillow and ignores the both of them with a sigh. The other two could only see a plume of black mist rise from under the white pillow.

 “And what happened to them, Reyes?” Jack asked after a few moments of deafening silence.

 Reaper will not look at either of them. But 76 knows. He knows exactly what that meant. Reaper had betrayed Talon. There was no side that he was on now. “Hey, Kid, I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

 “Can’t go without giving you this.” He holds up an ice cream. Same brand that Soldier: 76 had given to him before they went out on that mission. Jack laughs and takes it from him, rubbing his knuckles against the side of Lúcio’s head in a kind of affectionate noogie. Lúcio grins and smooths his hand against the side of his head before he heads out. D.Va is waiting for him and waves to Jack, saying she’ll be by to see him when his roommate ‘Señor Crabbypants’ is asleep.

 There’s some peace and quiet at last, but Reaper still cannot sleep. How long has it been since Angela left? Soldier: 76 had sunk back into his own bed to possibly get some rest as well. He lifts the edge of the pillow he had stuffed his face under and regards Jack. He’d removed the visor and his eyes are shut.

 Gabriel notices that his wrist has an elongated cuff attached to it. Originally he’d thought the weight was an IV line and hadn’t even paid any attention to it. There is a little cloth wrapped around his wrist to keep the cuff from hurting him. The extended chain is attached to the bed. So the doctor was really intent on him staying. What a shame that he could just phase on through.

 Or, that he usually could. He attempts to step into the shadows but it doesn’t exactly work. The smoke and mist builds up but it’s just a big show with no payout. He must have overused it. Great. He was feeling a little nauseous and lays back down on the pillow. He hasn’t eaten since before that mission, but the nausea is still like he had eaten something spoiled.

 Once the wave of sick passes into a dull ache, he sits up again, trying to take the bed apart now to get away. He can’t pull the support off of the bed with hands alone. There’s a scowl from him. Jack can hear him fiddling around and reaches to place the visor back on, and watches the fruitless struggle from his own cot.

 “For Christ’s sake, Gabe, will you stop it? You’re making me antsy just watching you.”

 “Then look the other way.” He snaps back at him, looking for something that he could jam into the lock and push it free. He wasn’t letting Ziegler keep him here like some lab rat regardless of what concerned her. He blatantly ignores Soldier: 76 in the other cot and tries with little success to pry the screws out of the handle bar with his fingers. From behind his visor, Morrison rolls his eyes.

 “Why did you bring me here, Reyes?” Jack asks after another few minutes of watching Gabriel struggle in his cot. Reaper tenses a little at the question and he stops fiddling with the restraint on the bed. Soldier: 76 is waiting patiently for an answer and he stares him down for a few moments before he thinks of an answer.

 “Because I wasn’t about to let some dime-a-dozen quick-hires take you out. If anyone is going to kill you, it’s going to be me. No one is going to take that from me. Not you, not these idiots you work with, and not those idiots that I killed.”

 Jack actually laughs. “How violently romantic.” He teases. He fiddles with his visor and notices that all of the messages in his recent folder were already read. Had Reyes gone through this?

 “Fuck you.” Comes the rebound on that comment. Morrison swears he can feel the glare boring through the side of his head. He asks a serious question now. One that was important to what he would decide for Reyes next.

 “So you killed your own squadron?”

 “Did I stutter, Morrison?”

 Jack swallows. So he did betray Talon. There’s a clatter of metal on the side of the bed and then to the floor. The both look down. The cuff and the gauze had fallen from Gabriel’s wrist, but was still closed, and the gauze still wrapped as it it had been around something. Gabe looks at his hands.

 They’re transparent.

 “Fuck.”

 The nervousness on Gabriel’s face makes Jack naturally feel worry in his own chest. “What’s wrong?”

 “Getting you here, I overused my teleportation skill.” Gabriel tries to concentrate on staying solid. He inhales deeply and his eyes furrow but the trepidation has his heart going a mile a minute.

 “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jack manages to get himself out of his bed and limps over to Gabriel’s reaching out to grasp onto him. His hand phases through Reyes’ and he can’t stop a gasp from coming out of himself. The airiness slowly works its way up Reyes’ elbows. He reaches for his shoulder and manages to take hold of Reaper from there. “Gabriel! What does that mean?”

 “I might break down.”

 “ _Fuck.”_ Soldier: 76 hisses. He sits himself on the cot and makes Reaper look at him. “Just calm down. Try concentrating on me. It’ll pass.” Where was Angela? He looks to the door for any sign of her, but there was no one. It was just him and Reyes. He tries his commlink in his headset but there is no reply from Angela still. A small beeping is heard on the other side of the room. She had left it here. “Gabriel—“

 How odd it was to see this man worry. After so long at being at odds with this old familiar face, instincts to protect still shown through. Was it because of their history of did he just feel obligated? He opts to make a joke regardless of the circumstances, trying to keep a brave face in the dire situation in front of him. He laughs and through his teeth, smoke and mist billow out. He coughs like it’s choking him. He actually felt like he was suffocating. “I sure wish what I was looking at was a nicer view than what I have now.” He wheezes through a choked chuckle.

 Jack grabs him by the chin and crushes his lips against his. He wants to make him shut the hell up and pay attention. Even when Reyes tries to pull away, he leans forward.

 He refuses to let go.

 Reaper pushes him away and to both of their surprise, his hand doesn’t go through him. But surprise quickly goes to a glare from Reyes. “Don’t pull stupid shit like that, that isn’t going to help me, it’s only going to break my concentration.”

 “Looks like it did something for you.” He grips Reyes’ hand to show that it was solid again. _For now_. He could only hope with a little more recuperation that that would go away completely. Look at the scowl on Gabriel Reyes. That face could freeze the Earth’s core. For the first time in a long while, that smile quirks at the corners of Morrison’s mouth. “Least I could do is return the kiss and the favor.”

 “Next time skip on it.”

 “No, I think I’ll pay you back a second time.” Jack leans in for a second kiss and Gabriel practically recoils and it brings a low chuckle out of the injured soldier. He thinks he was getting used to the scratch of Gabriel’s whiskers.

 There’s a burn of heat in Gabriel’s chest that he hasn’t felt for some time. It almost makes him feel sick for the second time today. The look on his face must have told Jack to get lost because he tries to get up and sneak away like he’d won. Reaper grabs his enemy’s hand. He was still calling him his enemy in the face of how many different times he had kissed, and now had been kissed. He tugs him back down to sit on the bed with him. “At least stick around until the doctor gets back and keep my mind off of it. I didn’t leave _you_.”

 Jack agrees to stay even though their beds are in the same room.

 A message comes through Morrison’s visor from Lúcio. ‘Did you ever get around to listening to what I mixed for you?’

 There wasn’t a file on his visor from the kid. Not unless someone deleted it. He looks down at

 “Did you go through my visor?” He asks a few minutes later. Gabriel takes a few moments to respond but Jack already knew the answer.

 “I was just investigating. I wasn’t prying.” A defensive answer. Always so very defensive.

 “Not that it matters, I didn’t have anything to hide. Though Lúcio is asking me right now if I’ve listened to the file he sent me. But that isn’t here either.” He tries to pry a little more out of Gabriel, being very non-confrontational with Reaper.

 “Whatever.” Gabe was not talking about yesterday—no, three days ago. There was too much emotional baggage that he was not about to dig into when he could waste away with a mere distraction. Even if the one distracting him was, much to his chagrin, helping him keep it together.

 “He doesn’t know but he ended up making it for you anyway.” The admission is matter of fact and purely conversational. “He thinks I have someone I’m interested in.” A small laugh. The vitriol between the two of them was exhausted at this moment. They were both just so very tired. A moment of civil peace, a little bit of cold war, that wouldn’t hurt. They didn’t verbally agree but they were both signing the document silently.

 Reyes grumbles and lays back down. Morrison places his hand over Gabriel’s to make sure he doesn’t start to disappear on him again. The squeeze Reyes returns leaves his knuckles white. There isn’t a single word from either of them concerning this moment. They didn’t need to antagonize each other any further today.

 Angela comes in fifteen minutes later with a tray cart containing two meals for them and Jack lets go immediately. Seeing the cuff missing from Gabriel, and Jack with him in his bed makes her furrow her brow.

 “What has happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously if you go the rest of this fic without listening to this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xF2F88q0YDc) you're missing what I've written most of this fic to.


	10. Rhythmically

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're in rhythm, no matter how much we both try to lead the other.

 Over the next few days, things don’t improve very much for Reaper. Angela explained to him shortly after she came back that for the past 3 days that he had been unconscious, Gabriel’s body had been trying to dissipate into the shadows. Even when she explained what exactly she was doing to prevent it, he still didn’t understand, but he outright refused any further treatment any longer. He could keep it together now that he was awake. In the back of his mind, there was a part that said ‘now that he had support’.

 Ridiculous.

 What was even more ridiculous was waking up in the middle of the night to pain in his limbs as they tried to waste away once more. Ending up on the tile floor unable to stand.

 Having Jack pop his damn suture getting him back into his cot was the most ridiculous part of all.

 “Don’t fucking touch me, Morrison!” He snarls at him, a reformed arm giving him a palm strike in the shoulder.

 “If you’d stop waking me up in the middle of the night with your damn phantom limb bullshit I wouldn’t have to do this!”

 Angela rushes into the room to break up the argument and help the two of them. The fire in her tongue as she lectures the two of them puts them on the same side of ‘we don’t deserve this lip’.

 “Both of you need to stay still and call me if you need help!”

 It’s painful for Jack to get the sutures re-sewn in. But it isn’t as bad as it was before with Mercy’s advanced healing technology. She thinks that within two or three days he will be able to start moving around more. She predicts full recovery by the end of the week.

 Gabriel sits and talks to him the entire time to distract him. Telling him that he’s gone through worse and the both of them know it. Telling him that he was stronger than that and to stop embarrassing himself.

 A day later, Gabriel can’t stop exhaling blackened mist. He’s practically choking on it. This is new and it’s sending a wave of terror over him. Black drips down his lips like tar and stains the white sheets that his fingers are twisted in. It feels like an asthma attack, and he remembers having to support a sibling through attacks as a child. Morrison must have a history with this as well, because he has enough gumption to get Angela this time using his commlink, but holds him steady to make sure he doesn’t pass out before she gets there. A calming presence. He has to push away thoughts that he was lucky that the man was there. Neither of them sleep for the rest of the evening.

 At some point in the day, Reaper must have nodded off, however, because when he wakes up, he’s in the room alone. With his ability blunted and the restraint around his wrist, he couldn’t just meander around to find them. It’s a long, boring, company-less wait. He actually gets out of his cot and starts to pace. It was difficult to stay in one place when he was this damn restless. When Angela finally does show up, he asks where Morrison is.

 “Jack’s wounds are healed for the most part now, so I was able to let him be on his way earlier this morning. You had taken a nap, we didn’t want to disturb you after last evening.” She starts an examination of him to be sure that he would be fine alone for some time. He only really allows her to look over his hands and arms before he gets tired of being prodded at and pushes her hands away.

 “Enough.”

 “Gabriel… I realize that you and I, under normal circumstances, would still be carrying on without speaking to each other. You and I have both been at odds ever since what happened so long ago. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but I am asking that you allow me to help you.”

 “You’ve done more than enough to last me a lifetime. Two lifetimes.”

 “Would you not have done the same? Had you not the opportunity, the resources, the concern and desperation for those you were close to—“

 “I can’t say that I have ever felt the same, Ziegler.” He snaps back at her to save himself the tale of woe.

 “No. You have always been too busy feeling slighted over something that was out of your control, our control. _His_ control. And even now, you’re too stubborn and too caught up in how you feel attacked to simply accept help that could save you!”

 “Is _this_ even worth saving anymore?” This, meaning Gabriel Reyes. This, meaning Reaper. This, meaning an abomination. This, meaning the cursed, warped soul that he had become. The terror of former Overwatch operatives, the one who has nearly killed them time and again. Angela slams her hand down on the bed and points her finger right in his face. He leans back a little as he decides to let her talk before she loses it.

 “Every life is worth saving. You think yourself so damned in the eyes of any god. That you have had too many trespasses to save yourself, but never once considered that all deserve redemption. Jack was the same way before Winston called us all back together. You didn’t hear how badly he brutalized the Los Muertos in Dorado, did you?” There isn’t a response from Reaper, making it clear that he in fact hadn’t known. He didn’t know a lot about Jack in the years since their downfall. “You and he are two sides of the same coin. He has just accepted that there is still good in him. Maybe it is time to consider perhaps you have some in you as well.”

 “Is this why you didn’t just have me destroyed on the spot? Am I a charity case to you, Doctor?”

 “No, you are still here because of what you did for Jack. You risked yourself for him. How were we supposed to react to that, then? We are not cruel people, Gabriel. And you are proving that you do in fact have some good left in you. We know at least what your end goal was.”

 A laugh comes from him. “That’s funny, because even I don’t know what my end goal is anymore.”

 “Perhaps it’s time to reconsider then.”

 He says nothing. He won’t even look at her. She sighs and returns to her desk to look over some documentation.

 Three hours later he allows her to treat him. There isn’t many exchanges of words following that until she brings him food in the evening. He can tell she is trying her best to be civil. He’s too tired to argue any more semantics with her. It’s just a couple of injections, a small time under one of her biotic devices, a little bit of a status review and a check-up. Too complicated for him to even begin to understand.

 “How do you feel?”

 “How do you think?” A non-answer, difficult as always. “Where is Morrison?” He asks for the second time today.

 “He’s just catching up with his allies, Gabriel. He told me he would be by later.”

 He sighs, and he lays back. He was stuck here with the cuff and he couldn’t move from this room. He’s scratching at his wrist idly, and then he cracks his knuckles, popping each one that would give that little bit of noise. It brought just enough relief that he could relax again. Angela asks if he would like something to drink and he nods. “Just water.”

 She brings him a glass and gently hands it to him. He swirls it in the glass for a couple of minutes before he actually drinks it, watching little bubbles go around in a spiral. He himself felt something along those lines, stuck in the current, caught in the undertow. Reyes as the one that put himself there in the first place, however. There was no one else to blame except maybe Jack if he twisted his logic well enough. No, he’d just have to face the facts and accept that this bed was specially made by his own two hands.

 There’s a knock at the door. Angela opens it and steps outside to see whoever it is. He can’t hear them behind the windowless door, and he couldn’t see who it was as the blinds, too far out of his tethered reach, were closed tightly for his privacy. _What the hell good is privacy if it’s more like solitary confinement?_ Gabriel puts his pillow over his face again, just trying to get back to sleep. The door opens again and he can hear footsteps slowly walk in. His eyes drift shut.

 He can hear a tiny click, and then the sound of music flows into the room. He lifts the pillow to see Jack tuning the station, the scratch of the changing stations gritting at his ear. “Pick something already, will you.”

 He’s not surprised when Morrison settles on jazz, the low hum of a saxophone playing a slow, calm song. That ideal kind of background music.

 “I thought the sound of medical equipment would drive you as crazy as it was driving me, so I brought you a present.”

“How thoughtful.” A smarmy form of thanks from the tethered dog. He puts the pillow back down again.

“And a little cease-fire agreement, too.” He tries to get him to actually interact besides brood like a child in time-out. Soldier: 76 sits back down on the cot that he had previously been occupying and wiggles his other hand. There’s two bottles tucked into the nooks of his fingers by their necks, clinking together as if saying hello. Reaper lifts the pillow once more to investigate.

 “Is that beer?”

 “I thought you could use one.”

 “You’re reading my mind.”

 “I knew you, and I still know you.”

 Morrison opens the bottles for the two of them and they just sit there, enjoying the music, sipping at the same brand of stout as last time. A grimace comes across Reaper’s face that he has to shake off along with the memories of the last time he drank with the old soldier. Once his bottle is empty, Reaper twirls it in his hands, listening to Morrison hum along with the song. He didn’t know this one. He rocks his head a little from side to side with the tempo and Reaper thinks it’s so damn uncharacteristic considering what they usually are like together: at each other’s throats, throwing daggers and bullets. He can’t stop the quips that come out of his mouth. It’s almost like it’s second nature now, throwing witty little comments at Soldier: 76.

“What are you going to start dancing next, _fanfarrón_?” He asks with a low bit of smugness in his tone, placing the empty bottle next to Jack’s.

“Only if you join me.”

Oh. That was actually clever. Well then.

Jack actually gets up and offers his hand to him. It’s really just to make him nervous and he expected the inevitable dismissal. Reyes gives him that glare that could cut glass. He doesn’t take his hand and actually folds his arms as if to hide them from the other man. _“Deja de hacer tonterías.”_

Jack pushes it a little further now, pushing his fingers under the crook of his elbow and tugging Reyes up to his feet. Reaper lets the most begrudging grumble out and he smirks, as much as he tries to hide it. “It’s just us, relax.”

“I can’t go too far with this cuff on.”

“We don’t need to go far.” He pushes the other cot further away to give them a little more room and offers his hand again. The groan of how put-out Reaper feels getting up for this nonsense just keeps that smirk on his face. He offers his hand again and Reyes looks at it, and then at him.

He takes his hand and pulls him in a little closer, starting into a slow two step. Gabriel is so stiff about it it’s like dancing with a cardboard cut-out. “Reyes, how do you not know how to dance?”

 “I know how to dance, I don’t _want_ to dance because—“

 “What are you nervous Angela is going to walk in?” The huff that comes out of Reaper is a definite ‘yes’ even though he doesn’t say anything. “She’s not going to be back for a while. Just go along until the song ends.” He nudges Reyes into the movement and eventually he manages to get him to go along.

 “So what are you people planning when I’m finally ‘fixed’ enough that you don’t feel guilty anymore?” Gabriel tries to push him into answering that to get him to falter, but Jack takes his time in answering. Cool collected Jack Morrison. He can feel the scorn he has for him bubbling up again until he feels Jack squeeze his hand.

 “Well…” He starts with a sigh. “that depends on how you act, honestly. You’re still in good graces for saving my hide.” He turns them so that he doesn’t get the cuff taut and make them both stumble. “But it’s thin ice, Gabriel, don’t break through in the heat of the moment.”

 “Did you get that off a fortune cookie, Morrison?”

 “Fuck you.” Soldier: 76’s brows furrow into a squint under his compacted visor.

 _“Tal vez más tarde.”_ A smirk out of Reaper now with the empty suggestion. Jack purses his lips and a deep chuckle came out of the mercenary. “Never gets old being able to just say what I want in front of you and leave you clueless.” The tables were turning now and neither of them even notices that the song has ended and another has started. The one coming from the radio now has a faster tempo, carefully matching up with the moment the two are immersed in.

 “Maybe I’ll start to learn.”

 “Maybe—“ He dips Jack backwards. “—I’ll just keep surprising you.” He definitely got a surprise though, Jack is basically clawing at him to keep his balance and Reyes laughs, giving him a spin, and Jack stumbles a little as his still bum leg calls it quits for a moment and gives out. Reaper puts his hand around the small of the soldier’s back, keeping him standing. He can hear him inhale sharply. He pulls him back up and pushes Jack onto the cot, leaning down over him like he’s trapped prey. Jack’s hand tangles in his hair and the other squeezes his hand tighter. _Look how red his face is._

 He goes in to close the gap between them.

 The sound of the doorknob jingling makes them spring apart like two magnets with the same polarity. Angela has her nose deep in her file as she walks in, and pays them both no attention besides a  
_’Hoi zäme , Ich bin zurück’._ It’s reasonable considering this isn’t the usual thing that happens in the middle of the damn medical bay. She’s lost in thought and both of them are certainly thankful she’s so buried in her job. Reaper shoots Soldier: 76 a look that couldn’t read ‘I told you so’ more if there was blinking neon lights rigged up behind him. Soldier: 76 waves him off like he doesn’t want to hear it.

 Between the two of them, there isn’t a hair that isn’t on edge. Soldier: 76 gets up in a hurry and clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep the radio, it’ll help you get the stick out of your ass.” He slips out of the room with a small farewell to Angela, and doesn’t look back at Reaper.

 There’s a murmur of agreement from the one left behind, even though Jack was already long gone. The one who couldn’t follow him even if he wanted to. The back of his mind was swimming with berating comments for himself and for Jack. His adrenaline slowly tapers off and leaves one thought.

 He had to get rid of this handcuff.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this is very quickly nearing the E rating, don't be surprised when it happens.
> 
> translations below, thanks to robospock for being a dear and helping correctly because I have zero background in spanish. You're the MVP today.
> 
> faanfarrón -show-off .
> 
> Deja de hacer tonterías - Stop making nonsense / Stop being ridiculous
> 
> Tal vez más tarde - Maybe Later.
> 
> And the German Line
> 
> Hoi zäme, Ich bin zurück - Hi (swiss- german) , I'm back.


	11. Foolishly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fool me once, fool me twice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey this chapter is 18+ and includes choking.

 Overnight, Gabriel Reyes did not sleep; Reaper did not sleep. He was too caught up in his thoughts. About his situation, about his condition, about Morrison. Especially about Morrison. The radio played lowly, and only to him. Angela had left him with a commlink in case he needed her. He spent some of the time alone fiddling with the handcuff again, but there was no Soldier: 76 to gruffly ask him to stop making noise so he could sleep, just the silk words of the radio persona hoping that anyone awake at this hour with them was having a good evening, and that they did eventually get a little sleep. _Yeah, buddy, well we can’t always get what we want._ He reaches over and changes the station to one with lyrical songs. No, not this one—garbage—garbage—new age garbage—maybe if he was in the mood for this—no, this genre was terrible—there. An acoustic with soft lyrics. He didn’t know all of them, but he knew the tune, and he hummed along quietly with it.

 He looks at his hands, still solid, still restrained. He wondered if this would be the day that he didn’t start to break down. Hopefully the little bit of faith that he put into Ziegler wouldn’t let him down. Reaper looks over at the clock. 05:00. Just a little longer and he’d be persuading Ziegler that he wasn’t a ‘threat’ (yet) and that he was more than capable of not breaking down, that he’d stick around Morrison. Anything to get him away from the smell of medicine and hospitals. Even before this, even before The Fall, he’d always hated hospitals.

 He remembered the first time that he and Morrison had ended up in the hospital together. He remembered how angry he was that he was hit in the face with shrapnel and Morrison had only gotten peppered in the back. Morrison and he were right next to each other just like this time. But he had gotten released before Morrison that time. This must have been how he felt, being alone in the med bay. It was a far earlier time than when Ziegler had developed all of this technology, when you ended up in the hospital for two weeks instead of one, and still were recovering for more than a month’s time. In such a short time this technology had become so advanced it was almost frightening. It was just a shame it didn’t become this efficient before he was the guinea pig.

 He didn’t even know if it was Ziegler that made the choice to try to save him, but he remembered the pain of it, he remembered looking like an absolute corpse. But the longer that he stayed as he was, the better he was putting a pigment to his skin, making the whirlwind inside him warm him. It was almost like he was still fully alive; after all he hadn’t specifically _died_ before this. But he said he did for all intents and purposes.

 It’s a long damn night, and he nods off before he even realizes it, the radio still playing. He’d later recount this as the worst night’s sleep he’s ever had; Dreamless, non-recuperative, tiring.

_“Thank you for listening to 99.5 BOWS, a station sponsored—“_

 He must have left that radio on all night.

_“—from listeners like you. It is going on towards half past 2 now, I hope you had a good lunch, I know I did. We’re gonna start this half hour off with—“_

_14:30? What?_

 He regains full consciousness in time for the radio persona of the hour to let him know that he has far overslept when he planned on confronting Ziegler. He practically rolls out of the bed in a hurry, like he had any kind of schedule to attend to, only to be tethered back by the bed. He nearly slips. “Piece of fucking shit—“

 “Gabriel, what could you possibly be in a hurry for?” Angela had been watching him the entire time from her desk, and takes off a small pair of reading glasses to raise a delicate brow to him.

 “To speak with you.” He yanks at the chain again. “I’ve had enough of this chained dog bullshit. Give me the key, I want to leave.”

 “And where would you even be leaving to, certainly not—“

 “Downstairs, the lobby, the mess hall, anywhere but _here_. I’m sick of it.” He wants to squash the idea that he’d even consider leaving here before he knew where his belongings were. There were a couple of things that he had had on his person that were not exactly replaceable.

 “Are you sure? I feel that it may be a little too soon. This has been your first day without desynchronization from your abilities.”

 “I cannot even use it right now. Do you think you’d have me locked here with a simple handcuff if I could just phase right out of it?”

 “Hmm, you do have a point. Why not just wait until this evening and if we do not have any mishaps then I will let you stretch your legs a little.”

 “What time is ‘evening’ for you. You’re up on the regular until one in the morning.”

 “…hmm, again, true. Let’s say 18:00.” That kind of bargain pulls a groan out of Reaper, a deep scowl to his face, and he sits back on the cot to wait.

 In that time, there are three visitors, none for him. The first is the dos Santos boy, who had sliced his finger with a knife trying to open an avocado. He looks damn humiliated when he admits how he did it and it pulls a small chuckle out of Reaper and a frown from Lucio as Ziegler mends the wound. “It ain’t funny, I could have sliced a tendon.”

 “I think you will be fine. Please be more careful next time, Lucio. You may also ask for assistance from the personal in the cafeteria.”

 The second is McCree. This is the most awkward of the three if Reaper had to choose. He came in with his prosthetic acting up and phantom limb pain. The lack of anything to do pulled questions from Reaper concerning the arm as he sat by himself in his cot. “So what had you end up losing that arm, boy?”

 “I ain’t yer ‘boy’, Reyes.  And if you gotta know, I lost it during a job in Boston. That old Amtrak line sure has its issues.”

 “How many trains over the years have you actually paid for?” He’d heard about the one that McCree was notorious for, and that wouldn't stop him from teasing about it.

 “More than you, I’m sure.” McCree snaps back before letting out a hiss as Angela injects him with a mild painkiller.

 “Your issue will pass. There are muscle spasms making the prosthetic twitch are just from your brain not recognizing that the limb is gone, as is the pain. I’ve given you a small pain killer to help cope with this. If you continue to feel this pain, please return.” Angela smiles at him and he tips his hat with a ‘thank you kindly, Doc’. He gives Reyes a regarding nod as he leaves. Watching these people even try to make simple conversation with him as if they completely disregarded who he was because he was in this cot was surreal.

 The third was the cyborg. The younger Shimada. He was visiting specifically for a diagnostic check up on his replacement body. This took up the majority of Ziegler’s time. A full two hours out of the day checking all the most important components that kept that man alive. Reaper couldn’t help but feel like this was yet another shining example of ‘there were some things worse than death’, but the young man certainly didn’t seem to think the same, at least not anymore. He thanked Angela for helping him once more, gave her a warm smile, and a little bow before he re-aligned his helm and took his leave.

 “You just keep on cheating Death for others, don’t you, Angela. When will you realize that you aren’t a god?” He can practically see Ziegler stiffen at him calling her by her first name and at antagonizing her.

 “When God tells me this themselves, Gabriel.” She looks him dead in the eye. “Or when Death comes for another visit with me. Until then, I will continue.”

 “What a bold statement from the doctor.” A snide remark as Ziegler approaches him.

 “Yes, well we did have our agreement, didn’t we?” She unlocks the cuff around Gabriel’s wrist. He squints at her with a vague feeling of suspicion but thanks her, quietly.

 “If you are looking for the cafeteria, it is on the first floor. Go down the elevator, take a left, and it is the third door; double doors.” She hands him a light jacket, it’s an operative jacket. It looks like it was in his size as well. Light, even for the summer. With just a tank top on, Reyes thinks it would be better to take it. He puts it on and leaves without another word to her. He takes the radio with him too. Reaper can hear her sigh as he goes. He puts the hood of the jacket up and sighs out as well; a thin wisp of smoke trailing from his mouth. It wasn’t his coat, and he did not have his mask, but it was better than nothing.

_Down the elevator, take a left, third set of double doors._

 It’d been some time since he was here, and the last time was only to drop in on Morrison. He’d remembered where the bunks were, but Soldier: 76 was upgraded to the big-boy suite. It still was just a small single room, but it was enough.

 He arrives at the cafeteria and tugs on the left door to open it. It doesn’t budge. He tries the right. That won’t budge either. There’s a small sign on the side that says the hours, most specifically: ‘Fridays – 06:00 to 17:00’.

 He twists both of his hands into fists in frustration, runs his thumb and forefinger between his eyes to pinch his brow in an attempt to quell a bubbling burst of anger that popped up without warning. “You would think after all of these years working here that she would remember the hours of operation! But this is Angela Ziegler I’m talking about, so who exactly am I kidding!” Throwing his arms up in exasperation, he turns sharply on his heel, feeling like a fool, but better from his outburst.

 “Who let you out of your hole?” It looks like Soldier: 76 saw that entire exchange with the doors, but chose to let him play it out. He doesn’t mention that little bundle of rage that popped loose in the moment.

 “Who do you think, boy scout?” he shoots back. Morrison puts his hands on his hips and he can see his brow quirk behind his full visor. He’s wearing that stupid jacket again. Must have been out practicing now that he was out of the medical bay as well. He has his rifle with him. The coat is still sporting the bullet hole, but the bloodstains have been basically scrubbed to not be noticeable.

 “They close early on Fridays to be here later on Saturdays.” He explains calmly. “If you’re hungry I can get you something to eat.”

 Reyes has too much pride to accept the offer. Jack nudges him to his room anyway. “Look, we don’t have a room for you that you can just plain get access to—since of course you’re not one of us—“ He holds off. Gabriel wonders if he was going to add a ‘yet’ in there. That would make him a fool too. “—But I’m going to let you stay in here with me since I do in fact owe you my life. Which is the last thing I thought I would ever be saying to you.”

 “There’s a first, and a last time for everything, Morrison. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

 “I wouldn’t bet money on it, Reyes. Let’s just go get you something to eat.”

 He places his rifle down in the weapons rack, closing the door and spinning the lock. A small shaker of salt comes out of the end table and Reyes is left wondering what kind of person leaves salt in their drawer. Reaper is confused even further as he moves to leave again. “I thought that you said you were going to get something to eat.”

 “I didn’t say it was here.”

 The garden was a small area that was originally supposed to be a strip of land outside the common area so that agents could go outside without having to leave the protective walls of the base. But in the recent revival of the collective, it looked like Jack had renovated it. Reaper had the idea that if Soldier: 76 had never actually gone back to being a soldier once they blew themselves up, that he’d have moved on to something like this. Something that kept him busy, that relied on him, but was stress-free at the same time. But this wasn’t a perfect world, and this wasn’t the world where the two of them just up and forgot each other. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here right now in the most bizarre cease-fire he’d ever seen.

 “So I thought you didn’t have to eat.”

 “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get hunger pains for more when I do.” Eating over the last few days had simply just been to cope, a little self-comfort. He could afford it.

 “Then why stop? There’s not a lot left that you can or _do_ enjoy.” That comment pulled a glare from Reaper, but he said nothing more.

 There’s a familiar face in the garden. It’s McCree. Wearing the same stupid cowboy hat he’d been wearing since the last day that Reyes saw him when they were both in Blackwatch. Did he ever take it off?

 “McCree are you raiding the garden again, you sneak?” Soldier: 76 picks up the garden hose as he steps further into the area. Reaper notices that the faucet is off, and stays behind to turn it on for him. If Jack was doing what he thought he was doing, this would be funny.

 “Man, just one’a them. The mess hall is closed and I’m starvin’ like a cattle in famine.”

 “Did you water like I had Lena ask you?”

 “… I was gettin’ to it.” McCree takes a step forward to take the hose from Morrison and the old soldier holds up the spray nozzle. “Whoa, hey now, I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”

 Morrison sprays the hose and knocks the hat off of McCree’s head, making the gunner wince and scrunch his eyes shut as if he’d expected it in the face. Jack isn’t cruel enough to actually soak him through and give the janitor something to clean up. McCree waits a few moments before he finally cracks an eye open, just in time to catch the hose.

 “Get to it then.”

 There’s a small chuckle out of Reyes with little spite in it and he can see that it actually pulls a smirk from Morrison as well. The other man picks a couple of tomatoes from another plant and calls to McCree, tossing one to him. By sheer luck the cowboy stands up from collecting his hat in time to catch it, and then gets back to watering the plants. Soldier: 76 moves on to some strawberries to satisfy a little sweet tooth craving.

 Reaper can see him rubbing at his wrist. There’s a small scar from what Reyes knows was the metal claws of his gauntlets. There’s a little bit of awkward silence between the two of them in that moment. “Well with those there you’ll never be rid of me, will you?” He tries to make at least a small joke, but with that wording he only realizes that it was a terrible idea after he says it. He practically winces.

 “You must be under the impression that I would have ever have forgotten you, regardless of our history.” Jack is so matter of fact about that that Reyes can’t even sense a bit of sass in the other man. The entire moment felt surreal to Morrison; Being at peace. War doesn’t teach you how to exist at the end of the fight. How do you function once the hostility is gone? There’s always that itch in the back of your mind. He tries to get up back to his feet once he has a handful of ripe strawberries in his hand.

 Gabriel can see the bit of struggle he has getting up from the strawberry plant he’s in front of right now. He grabs him under the arm and lifts him up to his feet. There’s a small murmur of thanks from Jack.

 He hands him a couple of ripe strawberries and takes a pocketknife to a tomato in his hand. The small salt shaker he’d brought with him replaces the knife once he slices the vegetable in half and he douses it with a small sprinkle of salt before he hands it to Reyes.

 “Just salt on a tomato? You really haven’t changed.”

 “Good fresh food hasn’t changed either. Eat it or starve, Reyes.” Jack takes a bite, sending a dribble of juice from the tomato down his chin. He wipes it with the backside of his hand. Reyes catches himself looking a little too long at a drip that Morrison missed and manages to pry himself away to the half in his hand.

 Here he was, breaking bread with the enemy. If you could make the connection that is.

 Gabriel manages to eat his a little more cleanly, leaning over to keep the juice from getting stuck in his whiskers, in the definitely-past-5’o-clock shadow. He was as much of a mess as Morrison was when he found him. But Jack manages to get it all over himself again, and he just can’t resist running his hand up his chin to wipe it off and then licking the drip off of his thumb.

 There’s silence between the two of them as Jack is now the one watching. Reaper inhales sharply and goes back to the strawberries in his other hand. He won’t look at Soldier: 76 anymore now. The old soldier is staring straight on through him though, and then glance at McCree, still watering plants and grumbling to himself how he’d rather be doing cups with the older Shimada brother.

 “Let’s go.”

 It’s a statement, not an offer, and if any other kind if discussion happened Reyes honestly would rather that ingrate not be in earshot. The both of them leave and it’s a long, quiet walk back to Soldier: 76’s bunk. He shuts the door behind the two of them and locks it quietly. Reaper watches the ‘76’ jacket come off and be placed gently around the back of a chair. A hand ruffles through grey hair, practically white. Reaper catches himself waiting for him to say something.

 “So you wanna have something to drink?“ Again with the drinking? Was that just going to be his escape route? Let the two of them drink it out and then fight it out? Fuck that. The back of his neck was warm with apprehension and tension. He watches Jack get a bottle out of the previously empty personal fridge and open it, taking a large chug of it. “Are you going to answer me or stand there like a big cumbersome statue?” Cumbersome? Him?

 “No I don’t want to fucking drink, I want to talk. About this entire fucking mess!”

 “What mess? It’s sorted itself out with you just lending me a hand and we paid it forward.” Christ, he didn’t want to talk about this right now and Reyes knew it, but he wasn’t going to flounder.

 “And this isn’t going to continue to happen, I refuse to blunder into this cycle of stupidity with you, saving you left and right!”

 “Excuse me? You saved me once, and I never asked you to!” Morrison is bewildered where this line of argument was coming from, finishing the bottle and placing it down on the table.

 “You don’t get to choose what I do!” Reaper steps forward and prods his finger sharply into Soldier: 76’s chest. Without the talons, though, it was more blunt than sharp.

 “What in the hell is your problem, Gabriel!” He snaps at him, pushing him back. But it wasn’t really a push. It was a shove, a hit, an instigation. The start of a fight.

 “You!” He grabs the soldier and slams him against the wall in a wave of fury. “You are a larger curse than any other I bear! A rash that never goes away!”

 Soldier: 76 tangles his hands in Reyes’ hair, just long enough that he could twist it in his knuckles. “And yet you put yourself out there to save my sorry ass, what is it really, Reyes? What is it _really_? Because I really want to know—“

 Reaper crushes his lips against the other’s with spite, with vindictiveness, with attachment. Attachment that was eating away at a grudge just enough that he kept coming back. He was a damned man, but he was going to drag Jack Morrison to hell with him.

 The gasp for air when he pulls away from Jack is like a song in his ears, and he wants to hear more of it. His hands clasp lightly around Morrison’s throat, where the other’s meet them, ready to go if he ever needed to stop him. Gabriel wished he’d stop him, but knew he would fight him on it at the same time. He squeezes his throat just a little as he bites the other’s lip. Jack’s hips brush up against him in a wiggle of discomfort and he can feel sparks up his spine. How many different kinds of want could you feel at once?

 One hand reaches up to remove the compacted visor, wanting to see his entire face, wanting to watch his brows furrow as he pushed him around. Morrison smacks his hand away promptly, though. “Not yet.” Not giving up his sight yet? He could understand. He could be patient; he could prove easily that he had patience.

 Patience for that; And that alone. What Reaper couldn’t be patient for was getting the zipper open for Soldier: 76’s shirt and sneak his hands up it. The squirm from the other man is delightful as he digs his nails into Morrison’s sides and yanks it over the other man’s head. He tosses it aside like every movement he makes is a battle won. He then pulls away from Morrison’s lips to leave bites against his collarbone; the one he’d bruised the first time around. He can feel Jack’s gloved hands grip at his shoulders.

 “What’s the matter, Jack, can’t rise to the challenge today?” He could feel the man shiver. Was it from saying his name? That little bit of power just in a name was fantastic.

 “What makes you think this isn’t exactly where I want you?” There’s a smirk on Morrison’s face but he was so shrewd he wouldn’t even look at him as he tugs the gloves off of his hands and tosses them down. His hands return to squeeze at Gabriel’s sides. “Having you say my name with affection like that.”

 Gabriel can feel his chest seize, and then a wave of emotions bubbles up until they flow over. That son of a bitch. It’s short lived, however, when his hand brushes over the other man’s groin on the way to his hip and a groan comes out of him. They both stop for a moment and the smirk across Reaper’s face puts a matching scowl on Soldier: 76’s. It was an admittance that needed no words.

  In moments, he’s dragged him to the bed. He can barely control himself as he climbs over him, trying to work sounds out of him with just his hands. But now gasps weren’t quite enough for him, groans weren’t either.  His hands are quick to open his pants, tugging them from the pockets, but not getting them quite down enough. “Raise your hips so or I’m going to leave these in shreds on the ground.”

 “You can’t shred too damn much without those gloves, can you?”

 Gabriel shoots a glare up at him and yanks his pants down to mid-thigh. He can feel the seam of the pocket give way with how rough he was. One hand reaches to hold Jack’s throat in a tight squeeze, but nowhere near enough to make him miss a moment. The other tugs him free from his briefs and starting to stroke him. He’s deliberate, squeezing towards the top, rubbing his thumb over the tip. Morrison dares to cover his mouth and he lets his throat go in favor of making sure that he could hear everything coming out of his mouth. The sigh of satisfaction that comes out of Gabriel leaves a plume of smoke seeping out of his mouth. His hand moves into Morrison’s hair, and he leaves a deliberate bite on Jack’s hip. One that would last. He can feel him throbbing in his hand. “Tell me what you want, Jack.”

 There’s a large amount of complaining sounds that come out of Jack, but none of them requests. “Oh are we offering for me to pick? You shouldn’t have, Jack.” A hard bite was added to his thigh now and halfway through a moan, Jack is trying to stifle himself once more for good measure. Reyes laughs lowly; it isn’t even in a condescending manner. All it takes is his mouth and Jack’s hands are immediately twisted up in his hair instead as his head bobs. He digs his nails into Jack’s side and pulls a full moan from the other man.

 “Gabriel—“ he practically chokes out his name, giving him a tug of his hair.

 He ignores it, as much as he’s enjoying hear him sing his name like that. He’s so pre-occupied with dragging moans out of Morrison he doesn’t realize that one of the hands have left his hair and at some point procured a small bottle of lubricant. Where was that being kept? Tucked in the mattress? He takes it regardless.

 Jack loses his pants completely now, discarded in the same manner as the shirt. He complains the entire time he’s readying him. Telling him that he’s rough, out of practice. “Go to hell, Morrison” was a swift reply to the ‘out of practice’ comment. How the fuck would _he_ even know that? The sounds come louder when he does finally press himself slowly into the bane of his existence; the center of all his concentration. He does more than he had really wanted to. He moans Jack’s name more than he wanted to, he kissed him more than he wanted to, finds the other’s hands mid-travel up their bodies more times he could even be bothered count and gets their fingers tangled together for the duration of them being together. When he does take that visor from him finally, he can see that Jack already had his eyes shut. Roughly angling his hips, he demanded that he pay attention, stroking him faster now. He wanted to see him break and beg him.

 “Gabriel, please—“

 Visionless eyes fluttering with the deliberate movements and thrusts into him. Gabriel doesn’t make him hold out any further and becomes precise in his movements to bring him to his finish. Jack cries out his name a last time before he loses himself. Gabriel presses his forehead to Jack’s before he follows right behind him, panting and drawing out his own. Savoring a ‘win’ over one he’d only dare call a rival at the kindest.

 There’s a moment where past and present seem like they have a gap, the midpoint between unbelievable and believable, and Gabriel Reyes could not believe what he had just done. There’s a couple marks left behind by him, there to say ‘yes you did’ when he thinks perhaps he didn’t. That he didn’t just sleep with Jack Morrison.

 He knows in the back of his mind that before Morrison woke up he would be gone. But he wouldn’t go right now. He just needed a moment more. Hours ticked by and there were only the quiet sounds of even, steady breathing from the man next to him. He could stay a little longer.

Just a moment more.

_Just a moment more._

Soldier: 76 wakes the next morning, sore and tired, to an empty space next to him. He didn’t have to see, he could tell from the silence alone. From the pits of his stomach he felt one word as he gripped the sheet tightly enough to make his knuckles white.

Fool. Fool. _Fool._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this chapter to be this long, but we don't make mistakes, we just make happy accidents.


	12. Bitterly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smoke has cleared, are we to pick up where we left off?

Within minutes, Reaper finds that it is not so simple as to just leave the Watchpoint. In the early hours of the morning he was by himself, but there was nowhere that he could go besides back inside or throughout the hallways.

 Every door is locked, every elevator requires a passcode, every turn is down to another vast hallway.

 “Reaper.” A synthetic voice calls out. He flinches and turns to find no one. There’s only a few moments before he puts together that it is the AI that he’d previously tried to break into for information on Overwatch operatives. Information more specifically on one Soldier: 76. Information that he never managed to get. Information that he wouldn’t have much he could bring himself to do with now with how taxed he was for time, effort, and ability. And here it was, striking up a conversation with him. What was it for?

 “What do you want?” He grumbles back up at it.

 “I have been informed that you are not to leave this facility, nor are you to use any of your powers. For this reason, you will not find any doors you can open.”

 “And who am I taking these orders from?” He laughs. If they thought they were going to keep him trapped here in without a way out, they best start thinking again, because leaving was just a timer ticking down.

 “This command comes from Winston.”

 “Tell that overstuffed carnival prize to go eat another banana.”

 “Is this truly a message to pass to him?” Why the hell not? Maybe if he went ape-shit (ha) enough he’d throw him out.

 “Yes, but not right now, I don’t want you waking up the entire base. I don’t have access to anything, including my powers, your damn calculations can come to that conclusion.”  As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps staying behind with Morrison would have been a better idea. But waking up next to him the next day? Pretending that what they were doing wasn’t putting both of them at risk more than what Reaper had already done himself was like putting a blanket over an open flame, it was just going to burn on through.

 Shit, when had he started caring if Morrison died?

 “Reaper.”

 “What do you fucking want?” He snaps up in an angry manner at what is really no one, something that must have looked rather silly if anyone was there watching him. It was probably on a security tape if he knew how neurotic this organization was.

 “What are you looking for?”

 He rolls his eyes and looks away. “Sanctuary.”

 She provided him with the practice range. That’ll do.

 In the following hours that another tired man finally wakes up, and finds himself alone, Jack Morrison is regretful. Through the soreness of his body and the taste of hatred in the back of his mouth, Morrison is considering not even getting out of bed. But his stomach decides for him. Breakfast and then break-face. Reyes would have to wait until he at least got a cup of coffee. The previous day’s clothing would do for now. He notices that the bites left from Reaper had grown red as if to say ‘look at me, Jack’. _Good fucking grief._

 Today’s lucky winner is Jesse McCree, asking what he did last night as the two of them wait for the coffee machine to dispense, even though it isn’t any of his goddamn business. McCree must be able to see the squint he gives him behind the visor because the chuckle he gets melts off and he goes really quiet. He fills his coffee with more sugar than 76 puts in his in a week but puts no milk in it. Soldier:76 only puts cream into his mug and stirs it. He’s still thinking of how he could reply to this.

  “Whatever I did last night I’m sure it was more interesting than your last night.”

 “ _Sheesh_ , you’re as prickly as a cactus this mo—“ McCree must have noticed the bites peppering his neck. A shirt wasn’t able to cover the higher ones. Soldier:76 watches the cogs turn in that dust-filled head of McCree’s. “Ohhh—Oh.” Yikes. ”I get it.”

 “If you don’t want this mug of coffee in your face, you’re going to shut your damn trap, McCree.”

 “Okay, okay, I’ll drop that. Just answer me this, where is he right now?”

 There’s a long pause as Soldier: 76 is unable to answer that question. McCree’s face goes from patiently waiting, to confused, and finally to realization that Reaper had taken off. That was awkward. Jesse clears his throat and looks away, sipping his mug.

 “How is it with the other Shimada brother?” He shoots back, a bitterness in his tone, a question specifically geared towards pushing this conversation back into his favor. He already knew the answer but McCree deserved to see what it was like being put on the spot like that. Maybe that was just his spite talking.

 “Uh… well… it’s going.” The gunner’s mouth is skewed in a way that showed that he was exaggerating in a way that made him miserable. That meant that it was going terribly. There’s a small smirk from Soldier: 76, a little bit of mutual gloom. The vigilante inhales before he takes a sip of his coffee, the smell a little soothing as he lets thoughts pool in the back of his head.

 “Like I said, I’m sure my night went better.” Even if the morning after was terrible. Part of him didn’t even care that McCree knew. It sort of felt like it was a long time coming; everything that had happened overnight.

 “I’m headin’ on out to practice a little. Good luck to whatever you plan on doing now, you sure as hell’re gonna need it.” McCree shook his head and puts the mug of half-finished coffee into the cleaning bin.

 It was relief that this room had equipment for practice. More of those rifles that Soldier: 76 used normally. He hadn’t used one of these since before he was assigned to Blackwatch. He wondered if he was still proficient with these as he takes the head off a practice bot.

_Yeah, I still got it._

He can hear the door open as he stands and he tenses. The sounds of spurs is a bigger relief than he ever thought it could be. It was only McCree.

“Awh shit, this is where y’ ended up?” The sour look on McCree’s face was a dead giveaway.

“I’m assuming that you’ve heard then.” Seriously, Morrison? You let the ingrate know? Reaper places the rifle down to at least put the ease down that he’d start a firefight in here, which gets Jesse to take his hand off of his holster. Reaper folds his arms as he waits for Jesse to reply, staring him down as if waiting for an explanation from a child in trouble.

“I’m not at liberty to talk too much about what I’m gonna ‘ssume you two are doing. ‘Less I want to be the next one lookin’ down the barrel of that pulse rifle ‘a his.” McCree dodges around that question like he’d practiced it. “But I’m too damn curious to not ask why.”

“Let’s call it a spur of the moment.” That was going to be the excuse (the lie?) that he told Morrison, he might as well start with practicing it on McCree. “I’m not obligated to answer anything else.”

“He’s not too happy you took off.” Reaper can almost see McCree regret even saying that the moment it comes out of his mouth. This line of conversation wasn’t going where Reaper wanted it. In fact, he didn’t really want to talk to McCree at all any longer, but until he left there wasn’t too much he could do about it.

 “You still play guitar, boy?” He changes the subject brazenly as he moves to inspect the destroyed practice bot he had been previously taking out his aggressions on.

 “Goddammit were you listenin’—boy? Look, how many times I gotta—“ McCree tilts his head in a disrespectful manner as he folds his arms, caving to the change in conversation. “Yeah. Yeah I still do. You?”

 “No.” His hands slip into the pockets of his pants as he kicks the head of the junked bot across the practice range. “Glad to see that something I taught you stuck with you.”

 “Shame. It’s a good stress reliever.” McCree takes a cigarillo and a lighter from his pocket and flicks it a couple of times before he can get the end to light. He lets it spin in his fingers a little before he takes a drag of it.

 “I don’t think there’s anything that can relieve my stress.”

 McCree takes a deep inhale of his cigarillo and exhales it slowly. “Yeah, I could relate to that at one time. But not anymore y’know? Got stuff I care about more.” Reyes can see McCree considering giving him a pat on the shoulder, but the situation itself is too awkward for either of them to follow through with it. McCree tips his hat and leaves Reaper to his own business.

 Reyes looks at his hand and is able to let the tips of his fingers wisp away again. He looks back at McCree as he leaves and the door shuts, and clenches his hand, returning it to full form.

  It would be a mistake to have left him here alone.

  Jack, even after having a very conservative chat with Tracer, was still on the lookout for Reyes. The fact that he thought he could just take off after that. There was a fire lit inside of him and he just wanted to rip Reyes apart with words and then let it burn out. Tracer tried to reassure him that things would be fine, but it was hard to feel calm with someone as spontaneous as Reaper.

  The longer that searching for him went on, the more he tossed between getting angrier and calming down. He started wondering why he had let Reyes in after all these conflicts between the two of them. But he couldn’t imagine anyone else that he would have made that kind of compromise with.

 He was all the way back to his own room now. Half of him hoped that when he opened the door there, it would be a misunderstanding. The other half slapped himself and said he needed to stop being an idiot and get with the program.

 He’d been burned.

 The sound of a siren in the speakers blares loudly, which makes Jack jump to his feet. Athena announces where the breach is. Winston’s office.

 His mind can only think of one thing: Gabriel.

 Instinct alone pushes him to return for his rifle. He races with more urgency than he’s felt in years. The elevator is out of the question. He races up the stairs, skipping as many of the steps as he can up the flight to the next floor. He nearly slips at the top, grasping to the railing as he struggles back into proper balance. He doesn’t even see a sign of anyone else coming up as he exits the stairwell. Where was everyone? His breath is racing now, and his lungs are starting to burn as he turns a corner. Go faster.

 But what was keeping him afraid? Was he afraid of having to do what was right if he had to _? Get it together Morrison, he’s part of Talon!_ Or he was. He didn’t know what Reyes was doing anymore and that was the part that put him on edge, kept him on his toes. Kept his sights on him.

 Jack slams his hand into the touch pad leading to Winston’s office. Even with how fast and efficient the door opens, it’s not fast enough. He raises his rifle ready to fight. Ready for the ceasefire to end. Winston is on the floor in a heap, but conscious and un-injured, holding his chest. It looked like the wind was just knocked out of him; that he was taken by surprise. Through the panting, Soldier: 76 can barely speak. He can’t say what he wants.

_Don’t do this._

_Stay here._

_Don’t be an idiot._

_Please._

 “Thanks for giving me back my stuff, monkey-boy. Did you get my message about the banana?” Came a playful tone as Reaper slammed the door to the locker that held everything they had confiscated from him.

 Even Winston seems confused as to why he wasn’t being outright attacked. The scientist looks over at Soldier: 76 as the man just stares at the one he had only just spent the previous night with.

 Reyes turns to him as he tucks his belongings into his coat, Morrison catches his eyes just as he tugs the mask down, hiding his face. Hiding any emotion. Reaper raises one hand and makes a gunshot motion towards Soldier: 76, then two fingers tap off the side of his head in a casual salute.

 “Gabriel—“

 Wisps of smoke rise from Reaper’s form, and Soldier: 76 dashes towards him to grasp onto him. He reaches for him, realizing desperation to have him stay. He reaches out for him, but not his coat, his throat, his hood.

 His hand.

 He reaches for his hand as the gloved hand falls back down. His fingers pass through. The rest of him passes through, and with his weight shifting off balance he stumbles down to the floor on his hands and knees. The smoke dissipates. Reyes—Reaper, is gone. He almost reaches to check that he was. He can feel his throat clench as Winston helps him up to his feet.

 Left behind on the floor are two unused shotgun shells, standing straight up next to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the last one was, but we all know why the last one was that long.


	13. Regrettably

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more, once more, once more. Get up and repeat that same mistake until it isn't a mistake anymore.

 Soldier: 76 palmed through a paperback novel, a story that was helping him forget the events of the previous week. Placed next to him on the table in the common area were two shotgun shells. The ones left behind by Reaper. He was still muddled over the point of leaving those behind. He couldn’t imagine something so precariously placed would just be to psyche him out and keep him guessing. He turns the page, eager to forget that he had taken them with him as he had left Winston’s office simply because he wanted to know what Reyes could have meant leaving them behind. How he stalled him out so he could get away with his unreliable ability.

 He hadn’t paid close enough attention to know when he was getting that power back.

_That’s because you were too busy letting him get on top of you, you idiot._

 Soldier: 76 runs his hand through his hair and sighs in frustration to his own self. The marks and soreness and the strange looks had dissipated, but the feeling of being used was scratching at the back of his skull. The feeling of tearing the cover off of the paperback book was almost enough to quell the slow burning on the back of his neck. He uses one hand to flip the page and then the other to roll at the corner of the scrapped book cover. It didn’t have a nice cover anyway. A little texture and some embellished wording. It’s only when the cover has been completely curled into a tight roll that he lets it go and lets the paper pop into a spiral. The sound of footsteps approached him and he raised his vision to see who it was.

 “Shimada, I’m just tryin’ to be on the same page as you. Walking away isn’t helping.”

 Soldier: 76 lowers the book and brings his full attention from the seat he had tucked himself into, taking his boot off of the corner of the table as if the two would comment on his rude it was. The draft that follows the marksman as he attempts to out-stride McCree takes the ripped cover of his novel and floats it gently to the ground where the spiral it was in gives it a small bounce and rolls it away.

 “Walking away is what I am doing. Following is what you are deciding to do. And what I do does not need to involve you.”

 “Who said anythin’ about need. You can do things without needin’ anything. It’s called living beyond yer means.”

 “I may not know many of your sayings or terms, but that one is used concerning falling into debt.” Hanzo tilts his head down a little but looks McCree straight in the eyes, dark and sharp with judgment. The raise of McCree’s lip on one side and the roll of his eyes was a silent admittance that he knew that the other was right. How embarrassing. Thankfully for McCree his hair hid most of the blush on his face.

 “Okay how about ‘living beyond your needs’. Indulging. Livin’ a little. Treatin’ yourself.”

 “By spending time I could be using to better my skills playing a game with you.” A defined brow raises on Hanzo’s face now. He looked like he was waiting to see if McCree would make more of a fool of himself than he already was.

 “Yeah, why the hell not! We can play a game that involves shootin’ if it’s so damn important to you. I just wanna get to know you. You know, be friends—“

 _Friends he says._ Soldier: 76 raises both of his brows. _Yikes._ He looks down at his book, trying to ignore the conversation taking place in front of him. It was rude to eavesdrop either way. He wasn’t a kid like Lúcio or Hana. Even if it was rather interesting and luckily distracting.

 “Very well.”

 The gunner’s eyes widen in a thrilled look of shock and a grin grows on McCree’s face is from ear to ear. Jack glances over once more to see that Hanzo certainly feels like he just regretted those two words. “What’s the game gonna be then? Aim? Distance? Blind shots?”

 “Trick shots.” Hanzo decided, his voice as smooth as the flight of one of his arrows.

 “You got yourself a deal, pardner.” He bites his knuckle like he was trying to get that dopey grin off of his face. McCree was practically bouncing in his step with how happy he was to get the Shimada to do something with him that he practically walks off without even planning. He stops short and calls back to Hanzo. “You and me, down at the practice range in fifteen minutes, y’hear?” He tips his hat and heads off down the hallway, the red cloth of his serape swishing back and forth with the animated vigor in his posture.

 It takes Jack a minute to realize that the archer is watching him now. “There something I can help you with?” He asks gruffly as he looks back down at the book in his hand, turning another page over its spine and trying to read the paragraph at the top of the page.

 “No, there is nothing I wish to say.”

 “Bullshit.” He murmurs.

 “Why do you rip the covers off of the books?”

 “Makes it easier to read when you have a gun in the other hand. I picked it up from an old friend, now it’s just a force of habit.” He’d almost forgotten about her. It’d been so long since she was gone. He wondered what she would think of this hodge-podge mess that he put himself in, attempting to reach the paragraph for a second time.

 “How amusing.” Hanzo chuckles a little. It almost seems strange that someone who always looked like they were getting ready for a funeral would find something that wasn’t a joke funny. Must be just something odd that was because of where he comes from. “Forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. It is simply that when a book is stripped of its cover, usually it is to break the contents down to recycle into another print. To mark it as not having been sold. You are just at the midway point between the two it seems.” What an odd piece of information to know, but Soldier: 76 wasn’t surprised. Someone from the yakuza was bound to know a lot of out of the ordinary information from some place or another; what with just how much they were involved in.

 “Hm. Recycled like the lot of us here.” He guessed it was amusing if you had the sense of humor of a dried piece of meat. “And what say you? Why are you here?”

 “I would say if I didn’t feel as though I could find fulfillment with a group such as this, I would not have remained after the last time we worked together towards a goal. I still have business here.”

 Soldier: 76 assumes he means either McCree, Genji, the remains of his clan, or maybe all of the above. “Well don’t let me stop you.” The third time he attempts to read the top paragraph begins.

 A ping comes from the overhead, calling them to the conference room. He scowls. He’s never going to finish the chapter today at this point and once the page was dog-earred, the book was placed on the table, cover-bare side down. It is a repeat of the last objective that Soldier: 76 had understandably been absent from the end of. What they had confiscated from Vishkar couldn’t remain here, not with only a handful of full time operatives, two new-faces, and someone who was apparently just along for the ride.

 Soldier: 76 looks over to Jesse McCree. The man has a look like a cross between a disappointed child and a kicked dog. Must have not expected to have been called in for a meeting so soon like this. It had interrupted his duel with the marksman. “When’re we gonna go, today? Tomorrow?”

 “At 1300 hours we will be arriving where the cargo will need to be dropped. To get there. We will be leaving at 1000 hours.” Winston explained calmly. “Once it is dropped, we will stay for a deactivation commission, and that will be the last of it.”

 “Can’t we just do this here?” McCree complained. Idiot had to get his act together. He wasn’t here to screw around; he was here to do his job.

 “We do not have the equipment or the personnel that can capably disarm the device. It isn’t a bomb but it does have self-destructive tendencies as a prototype.” Winston sighs. “If I could have it done here, we would not be having this discussion.”

 “Fuck. So much for that game.”

 “Perhaps when we return.” Hanzo adds quietly from two seats over, seemingly eager to calm the disgruntled man so they could get on with business. It seems to work and McCree settles back to listen o the rest of the briefing. Had he been looking forward to the game? Well there’s a surprise. So both Shimadas had a competitive streak. It reminded Soldier: 76 of years ago. It reminded him of problems that had led to his blindness. That led to Reyes becoming Reaper.

 Now was not the time to get sentimental. He was still angry over the situation and he was not going to let him off easy with a few enjoyable memories. At least on a job he didn’t have to worry about Reyes showing up again. He plays with one of the two shotgun shells, letting it twist and roll between his fingers. “So I’m assuming we can expect Talon, can’t we?”

 “Unfortunately, yes; though with certain circumstances…” Winston trails off with a glance at Soldier: 76. The vigilante knew what he was implying and he was smart not to go further into detail. Soldier: 76 thinks it is the best choice he’s made in his entire life. Winston clears his throat. “Well, I just do not believe it will be like the usual encounters we have with Talon.” He nods, and then dismisses them swiftly so he could think. He looks like he wants to speak to the soldier, but he doesn’t get the chance. Soldier: 76 straight up avoids that conversation.

  He still had time to go get breakfast. They had an hour. There isn’t very much left at the point so late in the day, but he isn’t the only one there. Lúcio is there again, bright and chipper, happy to see him. He has a plate of fruits in his hand, a protein shake in the other. The younger man beelines over to his side and asks if he wants to listen to a little bit of music. Might make him feel better.

 “How do you know I’m not feeling well, huh?” A little playing with him before he took the headphone and pressed it against his ear. There was a specific sort of closeness he was developing with Lucio that kept him from being able to say no. It wasn’t worth projecting his anger onto someone who didn’t deserve it.

 “I know you, I got you. Don’t gotta pretend it ain’t botherin’ you still. Y’know: what happened...” He doesn’t speak to much, however, likely to keep from stepping on any toes.

 “Let’s not spoil breakfast with talk like that.” He pats Lúcio on the shoulder and moves on to find a seat. Lúcio sheepishly follows after him and sits across from him. There’s a guilty look on his face and Soldier: 76 isn’t sure why he’s acting like that. “Hey.” He waits for Lúcio to look at him. “Don’t feel bad over the trouble of an old man. You’ll go grey faster.” He ruffles his own greyed hair and a little smile perks up on Lúcio’s face.

 “It suits you, though, Captain.”

 Soldier: 76 gives him the squint, visible even with his visor on. “Don’t be a brown-noser, Kiddo.” The light reprimand is followed with a little chuckle.

 The call comes in faster than he had hoped it would. As he leaves, the old soldier leaves the two shells on his nightstand along with his feelings. At least, he hoped that he could leave that behind just as easily. He had a job to do. A role to be filled.

 Bringing the cargo to the halfway point was almost too easy. It put him on edge, but the rest of the team seemed to be glad that they at least had a calm before the storm. He checks his rifle. Checks his munitions. Checks the accuracy of his visor. He was stressing out, and nothing had even happened yet. The idea of someone uninvited being there. Would he choke again?

 D.Va calls in ahead that there’s trouble coming up on her tracker. The leather of Soldier: 76’s gloves creaks as he grips the hilt of his rifle tightly. He steels his jaw as he comes out of the convoy to get ready for battle. They all wait for the scouting report to come back.

 Ahead, there is a roadblock. And where there is a roadblock, there was likely a battalion of soldiers specially delivered from Talon. They leave the truck back further to keep it out of the brawl. Someone needed to stay behind to protect it, though. Soldier: 76 remains on guard with the payload as his comrades push forward, trying to keep him out of the sights of others. Stay safe, they say. Call us if you need us. The rest of the team moves out, leaving him with the murmur of the truck’s engine. The keys are left so that he can move it further when the dust settled. Quietly, he can hear the dirt crackling under his footsteps as he paces his guard. Distantly he can hear the beat of music from Lúcio. Closely he can hear the sound of soldiers trying to flank him. He fires off a round of helix rockets from where two are filing in from, sending them back in the direction from whence they came. His augment picks up six more of them. Not too many that he couldn’t handle.

Within moments, the number drops to five. They’re getting closer. He has to back up to more cover to avoid the shots coming from several different directions. He raises his firearm and shoots in the direction of another. This time he misses. The wooden cover of a stall isn’t very helpful. Most of it was just cloth. It would only last until someone picked where he was and shot through. He had to move again.

 He raises his rifle over the cover fires towards the approaching Talon agents, ducking behind the cover of the vehicle as they try to get back into position after dodging. But he couldn’t last long here either. If there was enough damage to the payload, he’d be regretting his choice in cover. He inches out and takes another of them down, a last cry comes out from the man as he hits the ground. Five sets of eyes zone in on him and he pulls back away from the open. For a moment, however, his visor picks up six _. A glitch._ He figures it has to be.

 One more of the aggressors drops with a well-placed round of fire. He reloads, inhales deeply, gets ready to go again. There’s a frustrated sound from one of the agents. Another says that they have something that’ll take care of him. A third says that that was too risky for the cargo. A ‘no’ at the sound of something being thrown.

 He hears the clatter of plastic as a projectile rolls towards him. The beginning of beeps that not a single person would not recognize. With only him here and the cargo, it looked like he’d be the only one caught. He bends down to pick it up, to try to throw it back from where it came. His fingers brush it clumsily from the adrenaline, and he reaches for it again only for it to slide under the vehicle. The beeping speeds up now.

 Five seconds.

_Not Nimble enough, Jack._

 He feels a hand around his throat, around his stomach; a gasp and a yell coming from him as he’s pulled away so quickly his head spins. There’s darkness swarming around his vision. He feels like he’s being pulled apart and scrambled. It’s a frenzy almost too quick, his visor shorts out for a moment, and his ears can barely hear with the pounding in his chest. His sight returns for just a moment. He can see the small blasts of gunshots; he feels his entire body jerk into another direction in an instant.

 There’s a wall; he passes through to the other side.

 A wave of nausea is bubbling up from his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is like the first time it's taken more 3 days to update this. Probably because vacation ended and I don't have all day to work on this anymore.
> 
> There's a low key bit of McHanzo in here and I'm not even sorry. Go read Trick Shot if you want the follow-up on that.
> 
> We're starting to reach the end here, folks. The next one is going to be a lot longer than 2800 words so....
> 
> Edit: whoa this passed like 6100 views I'm stunned guys!!


	14. Heroically

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a two-step. I take one forward, you take one back, and then: the dip; the kiss.

 The feeling of being pulled into a form that usually was not yours was kind of like if someone decided to twist your guts up like spaghetti and call it ‘fixed’. As his sight returned and the visor flicked back online, he stumbled in a woozy manner and had to brace himself against the wall. “I’m gonna be sick…” he groans, leaning over a little to try to keep his breakfast down. A few swallows later he manages to right himself back up most of the way and force it down.

 “It’s not that bad.” Reaper scoffs and puts both of his hands on his hips. Soldier: 76 shoots him a look that could kill.

 The sound of an explosion on the opposite side of the building startled him. He stands straight again and looks at Reaper. What a pompous air he had about him, arrogance in his pose displaying that he was once again here to save the day. What a big damn hero. It pissed him off.

 “Get away from me.” He hisses at him.

 Reaper’s head tilts back a little at how taken aback he is at that. “I go through all that trouble and you’re just going to act like this? Did you forget the last time?”

 “I didn’t ask for your help!” Soldier: 76 snaps at him. He looks for his rifle. It must have been left behind in the heat of the moment. It was probably scrap with that last explosion.

 “No, you didn’t, but you were going to die, so I did it anyway.” Reaper chose to be matter of fact, tilting his masked face upwards like the egotistical gloat that he was. “Have you forgotten what I told you, Morrison?”

_If anyone is going to kill you, it’s going to be me._

 “Either old age must be getting to me or you just don’t have words that memorable.” A good way of not acknowledging Reaper’s boastful claims. Look at him, thinking he’s some kind of heroic savior, or at least above death. _No, he is death. That’s what he thinks_. He stands up and looks himself over to make sure he wasn’t hit. “I thought you were done being a hero.”

 “I am not a hero.”

 “What do you call what you just did?”

 The scowl puts a smirk on the vigilante’s face and Reaper erupts into Spanish insults that meant basically nothing to him. He reminds Reaper that he doesn't speak Spanish, and thus his words were nothing but a tantrum. There is a claim that Reaper is in fact not heroic. Reaper claims he is in fact selfish, and that saving Jack was selfish. Jack asks him what he could possibly mean by that. The sounds of approaching fire however, put that line of questioning on hold for a moment as a few Talon mercenaries came into view.

 “A temporary truce?”

 “More temporary than ice on a frying pan, you piece of shit.”

 “Oh, spare me—“

 “‘Spare you’? After the way you played me like a—“

 A spray of shots flying between the two of them makes them spring apart like a couple of cats that were caught fighting. Reaper grabs him by the wrist and pulls him across the street to the alleyway. Morrison practically stumbles, gripping tightly to the edge of Reaper’s elbow to keep himself off of the ground.

 “I thought that you were done ‘rescuing me’. What happened to ‘don’t expect it to happen again.’?”

 “Didn’t stick.” Reaper shrugs a little as he looks around the corner for any approaching Talon agents.

 “Yeah a lot of things don’t stick on you, rubber man.”

 “If you recall I didn’t use one.”

 “What?”

 “Never mind, move.” Reaper pushes him out towards the next street. Behind that mask he was grinning like a madman. Getting away with murder, as usual.

 “Where the hell are you even taking me?” Soldier: 76 pulls him back for a minute and the rolling sound of a convoy in motion pulls their attention back to the fight. This time it’s Soldier: 76 doing the dragging. He was not about to wait for them to file out into formation. The road they take has more agents starting down it and Soldier: 76 beelines down the next alley. He prays that none of them saw him, as the left they took led to a dead end. He just needed some time to think of a plan.

 Reyes pulls his mask off for a moment for fresh air. He was panting; using Shadowstep with a tag-along was still as tiring as the last time. Even trying to break down to move was out of the question now and he knew it. Here he was, stuck again with the rival. _But at least he’s alive. For now._ “We only have a few minutes before they case us down here. I don’t know if I can hit them all. If we miss even one, we’re toast.”

 “Can’t you just warp us out of here again, Reyes?” Soldier: 76 knew he was pushing it but it was worth asking. Maybe if they could just get through the wall behind them.

 “Are you kidding me? It took most of what I had doing it that one time!”

 Soldier: 76 groans and pinches his brow right above his visor. Losing his rifle had put them in a pinch but saved his life a few moments before. If he had a way to coordinate Gabe—

Oh. There’s an idea.

 “Do you trust me?”

 “Fuck no.” The expression Reaper had said ‘is that really a question I need answer?’ and Soldier: 76 smacks him upside the head. Reyes’ mouth hangs open and for a second Jack thought that a fist-fight would start between the two of them right then and there. If there wasn’t a wave of hostiles with guns looking for them, there probably would have been.

 “Too fucking bad. You’re going to have to.” He didn’t even know if it would work, but this was the kind of bang he would prefer to go out in. “I’ll aim, you just fire.”

 “Are you going to let me in on this little plan of yours, or am I just going to have to take your word for it.”

 “Take my word for it.” Soldier: 76 glances around the corner. The squadron is in the middle of checking corners, and he pounces on the one that starts down their way, twisting his body to snap the neck of his victim, then motions for Reaper to follow. The other man rushes forward in front of them and waits for Morrison to catch up, glancing back. He’d left his mask off this time. He was ready to face this with no alias. If Jack still had the vision, and if it would benefit their survival, he would have as well.

 Morrison is praying that it would work, feeling his muscles tense as the eyes of those surrounding the them ready to attack. He only had a moment to get into position, his chest pressed against Reaper’s back. He could feel Reaper tense as he touches him. He knows the fear in the other man. He’s felt it before. But what did death have to fear? What did someone that would get right back up need to worry about?

 Him.

 There’s only a moment of faltering in that before the look on Reyes’ face gets a little concerned. This was no moment to get sentimental over your enemy.

 “Tactical visor online. In my sights.” Seven, no, ten. Twelve. Fifteen. Fifteen in all.  He holds both of the wrists of the death bringer and pulls them into correct aim. “Fire at will, Reyes,” he whispers as his visor aids in aiming his shots at his enemies.

 A whirlwind of shots come from the two shotguns held by the other. It must have looked like a dance, as Soldier: 76 led him in a whirlwind from one target to the next. The sound of each shot bursting in his ear. He could feel it directly in his chest. They spin in a flurry, haphazard in appearance, but specific in targeting. A true tango of death between the two of them. Gabriel must have seen something out of the corner of his eyes, because he spins the two of them and leans out of the way, a dip. They narrowly avoid a shot that would have gone straight through the two of them.

 “Morrison, you’re going to get us killed.” He hisses.

 “That’s funny you say that because—“ He moved one of the shotguns in the direct the shot for Reaper. Fire. Reload. Ready. “—You think you could die!”

 “Some things are worse than death, you should know that.” Reaper grabs him by his arm and swings him away, taking control and shooting the man raising his rifle behind him. There’s a smirk of satisfaction on his face that he regained the lead. This was the problem when both dancers want to lead, it becomes a fight for dominance and outshines the performance. What a shame that there can’t be more than one leading man.

 “Yeah I think I get you. Didn’t think you would get that sentimental, Reaper.”

 “When I’m done with this, I’m going for you next, 76.”

 Behind his visor, Soldier: 76 was smirking now. Calling each other by their alias was almost on par with an actual insult. It made him boil almost as much as it was touching. “You got yourself a deal, I still owe you a slap from earlier.”

 The commotion just seemed to be bringing more of Talon along with them. Jack counted five in all. Stragglers, or scouts maybe. Some of them hesitated at the sight of Reaper with the vigilante. Some of them ran, but Reaper chose them first.  Reyes never was one for fair play, but when it came to the likes of Talon, there was no mercy from Soldier: 76 either.

 “Catch!” He only looks in time to catch one of the two shotguns. Looks like Reyes was done babysitting him. He slides up to cover and waits for the remaining wave to get closer on the other end of the street. He unloads the clip on them.

 All is quiet. On two sides of the backstreet, Reyes and Morrison stood in the wake of their battle.

 They both hold the shotguns up to each other and fire.

 Two small clicks sound out. Both empty. Reaper actually laughs. He knew his was empty. That infuriates Morrison. In unison, they are tossed away and both men charge towards each other, fists ready to fly. Reyes strikes Morrison in the temple, Morrison hooks Reyes in the jaw. After that, neither can tell who gets more hits in on the other. Both in a flurry of emotions and sweat and energy; they stumble away to ready for a second round.

 “You son of a bitch, I’m going to put you on the ground!” Soldier: 76 snarls. The contempt for what Reaper did the previous week was bubbling up again and he holds up his fists. He can see Reyes staring him down with a squint in his eyes. Was he questioning him?

 Reyes raises both of his fists and tilts his head in a quick sharp motion upwards. “Bring it then, Morrison.”

 Soldier: 76 practically pounces on him like a wild animal.  The gasp that comes out of Reyes is like a second wind to Morrison, and he throws a punch to Reyes’ stomach like he was in a title match. Reyes plays rough and the claw of his glove catches on Jack’s visor.

 Jack can feel the visor’s lock pop open and the equipment vacate the niche it was tucked into, clattering to the ground. Another strike does not come after that. Did Reaper think that he was defenseless without the visor? He still had enough in his eyes to see movement, still had sharp enough hearing to hear where he stepped and the quick inhale as Reaper faltered.

 He did not falter. He was not so vulnerable without that mask and this was the moment that he was going to show Gabriel.

 Jack holds up to his promise to put Gabriel Reyes on the ground. He crawls on top of him and lets loose on Reyes. The hits are too much for Reaper to concentrate enough on dissipating and getting out from under him. Jack counts how many blows he lands on him. Seven in all. And then he can’t hit him anymore. He was exhausted. He can feel his knuckles throbbing inside of his leather gloves. A mediocre protection for his own hands. Underneath him, Reyes is panting, tired, but has nothing broken.

 “You hit like an old man.” An impressive, blind, fearless old man. _Don’t underestimate him again._ That is what the look in his sightless eyes told Reaper.

_Never assume you have the high ground with him._

_Never underestimate him again._

 “Fuck you. You couldn’t even hold back those shitty talons.”

 He comes to a slow, panting as he grips Reaper by the front of his jacket. Reyes rubs his nose and pinches it for a few minutes to stem the blood dripping from it as they come down from the fit of anger that had overcome over the both of them. They won’t even look at each other; not that without his visor Soldier: 76 could even see him. Reaper is the first to break the silence, swallowing audibly and panting quietly from his spot on the ground.

 “What did you mean by ‘after the way you played me’?” He looks disturbed by a notion like that. That the vigilante would think that he was so low. Sure he was low but after all of this he thought he would be _that_ damn low? “How exactly did I play you, then, Jack?”

 “You _know_ how.” He watches Reaper try to wring his brain for any idea of what he was talking about and then an incredulous look wrinkles his features.

 “Are you kidding— _baja de las nubes!”_ He gives the soldier a good shove to try to get him off of him. Soldier: 76 manages to keep his balance and shoves Reaper further against the ground with a push on his shoulder. “If you think that for one second I’ve been risking my damn neck for some long con, you really are going senile!”

 “Explain why you left then, con man.”

 Reaper huffs, his chest puffing up a bit, or as much as it could with Morrison sitting on top of him. “I couldn’t just stay there.” But that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t come back again. And again. He didn’t even know how many times he would return back again, play the same game, leave in the same manner. Fight, Cooldown, Come together, Repeat.

 “Like hell!”

 “Oh, okay. Describe the morning after had I stayed. Enlighten me.”

 He couldn’t. In reality Soldier: 76 couldn’t really imagine Reaper staying, waking up next to him, getting coffee like history was just history. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he was fully welcome at the Watchpoint. Even by himself. He was stuck in limbo with the reaper and the road never forked to happiness or defeat. He knew this would go on until one of them went. And in any luck, the other would follow and the cycle would start all over again.

 Reaper taps him with his hand to get his attention again. He moves his head towards him even though he couldn’t see him. Reaper pulls him down by the front of his jacket forcefully and Morrison expects a kiss, almost opens his mouth for it.

 His visor is clicked back onto its frame. There’s a wave of humiliation coming over him, and he’s very glad that Reyes would no longer be able to see what he's sure is a look of disappointment. Reyes didn’t need to see his face to know what he had expected and what he had cheated him out of.

 “Not here.” As much as Reyes would love to sink his teeth into his lip and tempt disaster with Jack Morrison again, this was not the place. Not with the surrounding ‘audience’. When Jack stands, his augment back online, he understands.

 “I can’t believe that this mission went to shit like this.” He grumbles.

 “You didn’t die, though.” Reaper takes his own mask and places it back on. It’s really to hide his face in that moment. Reyes knew that. Morrison knew that. Neither of them said anything about it.

 “No, no I didn’t.” He huffs, but smirks. “Prince Charming.” He takes the discarded rifle of one of the dead. He needed some form of protection. He wasn’t a damsel. Reaper follows him as he tries to get his bearings back. This wild ride had pushed them out into a part of the city that he didn’t know. Part that wasn’t in the map on his objective overview. “Christ, where the hell are we.”

 The street is empty and quiet. It completely betrayed the violence so close by them. They're so far out that Morrison couldn’t even hear the fight anymore. The only indicator was a small bit of smoke in the distance, over a block away. The air was damp with the coming rain. There was only a little time before it actually got there. In Morrison’s head, there were only two thoughts, back and forth. How do I get back there? How long before it rains? How long would it take me to get back? How long before it rains? What will happen when I get back there? What about the rain?

 The sky opens up and the rain starts to fall. It starts as small drops, and then moves into a shower. Jack is trying to find the driest route.

_How am I going to justify bringing Reyes back there with me?_

 Situations like this were just going to make his hair go from grey to full snow white. His arms cradle the pilfered weapon in the crook of his elbows while his hands rubbed at his brows, smoothing along the lines of hair until they reached his temples and gently rubbed in circles. Slow down a minute. Just breathe. Through the rain coming down even harder now, it was nearly impossible to concentrate.

 “Hey—“

 A hand grabs his and tugs him back under an awning. The drops of water were beading on his coat, but his neck was already soaked.  His hair was clinging to his face, dripping off of his ears, and the front of his visor was blurred with beads of water. What was the point of this? Bringing him out of the weather wasn’t going to get him back to the task at hand any faster.

 “Gabriel, I don’t have time for this, it doesn’t matter if I get wet—“

 One hand presses him in a rather gentle manner to the wall. The other braces against the worn brick of the building. Nothing but the greyed light of the sun behind the clouds lit up the area. A muggy, cold light for a chilly afternoon. The first hand lifts Reyes’ mask again, pushes it out of the way. As quickly as Reyes' hand had put his visor on, it changed its mind and took it from him again.  The rifle in Soldier: 76’s hands slips to the wet concrete and his fingers end up pulling the front of Reaper’s jacket, demanding he come closer.

 One clawed hand, visor in its grip, rests lightly on his shoulder. The damp fingers of Jack’s red gloves slip around to the nape of Gabriel’s neck. There isn’t an ounce of resistance from Reyes. They’re quiet. Only the quiet applause of falling rain was audible. The murmur of raindrops gossiping as they hit the pavement, tapped in a way with no rhythm and yet with a beat against the windows around them, playing down the shingles of buildings and sliding down the gutters. Even so quietly was the sound of Reyes softly inhaling. Pausing. Waiting for Jack.

 He was going to kiss him. It was likely going to be the gentlest kiss he’d ever had from the man he’d been at such odds with for the last month.

 Morrison knew that. Reyes knew that. Neither of them said anything about it.

 Jack pulls Gabriel in and closes the gap between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a shout out to momther again for reading this for me at 12 at night because I have no self control.
> 
> And also to Sinderlin, Mom76, and Alma who I make suffer on a daily basis.
> 
> And that one person who looks forward to this a lot on tumblr. i know who you are, you hopefully know who you are. Thanks for the warm fuzzies, bud, I'll probably follow you when I get the stones to LOL


	15. Tranquilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're like a dog that knows 'come' but doesn't know 'stay'.

 The rain was still falling. Harder and harder it fell, sending spray up from the already dampened tarmac. The visor didn’t keep the smell of cooling asphalt and slight petrichor from nearby planters from reaching Jack’s nose. It was almost calming, considering the events of just previous minutes. A moment that would last in his mind for weeks to come: Standing damp in the rain pretending that nothing was wrong. The smell of burning gasoline, oil, and unidentifiable manufactured parts was slowly fading as the storm put out the flames over a block away.

 He was cold now. His body calming down from the excitement of action, the chase, the fight. But not the kiss. Not the kiss that came after the first, and certainly not the one now. The prickle of course hair against his chin kept his attention on nothing but his mouth. He couldn’t focus on anything else.

 But Reyes’ mouth was a good distraction that at this one moment, he did not mind. He can feel the scratch of his beard as his lips move to kiss as much of his jaw as was exposed by the docking equipment for his visor; and clawed hands dragging over the stubble on his own skin. He feels a hiccup in his chest and the buzz of a chuckle from Reaper’s throat. He scowls and pulls back for a moment. He holds him back with one hand, still throbbing from his previous bout of rage at the other man.

 “Come a ways from you running away when I kissed you back, haven’t you?” There was just a part of him that couldn’t let this just be a moment between them. There was something about it that made him never want this to be tender. It kept his blood going, always having to be on his toes with Reaper. A never-ending cycle of them trying to out-do each other.

 “When did I ever do that?” Comes the grumble from the one who was pretending that never happened. He takes control of the moment just to make up specifically for that moment.

 “You’ve done it more than once.”

 “It won’t happen again.”

 That was a lie, but Reaper pulls the attention away from that subject with another kiss.

 He can feel Gabriel’s gloves over the zipper to his jacket, tugging it down for the other hand to slip in. He pinches the side of Gabriel’s face as a quiet ‘hands off’. Gabriel bites his lip in retort.

“You fucking asshole—“ he manages to get out before Reaper pulls him back to take more. This was it. Just them, just the two of them. In the back of Morrison’s mind he felt guilt at the idea of deserting the mission. They both start talking at once.

“I need to—“

“Let’s go—“

And a third voice.

“76! Report! What happened!”

The crackle of Soldier: 76’s visor’s commlink jars him, and from how tense that Reaper suddenly was, it was obvious that he’d been brought back to reality. He pulls away and he slips out from Reaper’s grasp. The other man stays unmoving in that spot, too consumed in the moment that he thought ended too soon. Part of the old soldier didn’t want it to end yet either, but work came first. “76 here.”

“Oh thank God! We thought we lost you! Where the hell are you? What happened to the payload?” Reaper tries to listen but he can’t quite hear from where he is. He sneaks a little closer, hoping that Morrison doesn’t mention him.

“Talon.” He starts gruffly. “Was flanked by another small squadron, they weren’t too fond that I wasn’t dying and used grenades. Must have made the truck and the cargo explode.”

“Must have? Were you not there?”

Reaper watches as the conversation starts to get a little iffy. He has a feeling that he was about to drop his name in. He was making motions for him not to mention that he was here. Little brushes of his clawed gloves sweeping under his chin as he made ‘uh-uh’ sounds and a quiet ‘don’t’ and _‘no te atreves’_. Soldier: 76 holds his hand up to tell him to stop distracting him. He can’t see him making motions, which Reyes seems to have forgotten. But he can hear him hissing little orders at him. Reaper looks a little more worried that he is going to bring him up in this conversation.

“Yeah…. Yeah I had a little help. You know who it was.”

It wasn’t a flat out ‘Reaper showed up’ but it was enough. Gabriel curls his hands in anger and hisses “ _Idiota!”_ under his breath as he starts to pace back and forth.

“Well at this point what we were trying to get done is over with, but I’m worried about it showing up in the media. I want to know how they knew we were coming—No he’s not a leak—yes I’m going to ask him. You all can head out without me. I’ll be fine. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, then you can start worrying.—I’ve got the world’s worst guardian stalking me, I think I’ve got it covered.”

“I heard that.” Reaper scowls.

“Soldier: 76 out.” He turns the speaker system off manually. “Give me back my visor.” He orders. Reaper hands it over without a fuss and he clicks it back into place, letting out a small sigh of relief as his vision returns.

“Why did you tell them?”

“What was I going to say, Reyes? I magically flew through the wall myself?”

He grumbles back in response. “Yeah that’s what I thought.” He folds his arms in a haughty manner, satisfied in his small win.

“So you’re not leaving?” Reaper comes back for another argument. He’s ready not to be the one under the spotlight.

“No, I’m not. I have some things to do. Like look over those men for any information on how they got here.” The look on Reaper’s face is sour. Like that was the last thing he wanted to do right now. But he didn’t have time for Reaper. Instead he pulled his coat up to cover his neck and takes a step out into the rain. In a couple of moments, he regrets it himself, but he’s already out there. His boot sinks into a shallow puddle as he starts back toward the direction from where they both came from. He can feel a hand on his wrist and with a pull he’s yanked back under the awning where he was previously.

“I have a better idea. Let’s get out of the fucking rain.” He tugs him against him and steps into the shadows. It’s not far, but Soldier: 76 has absolutely no idea where it is. The queasiness makes another comeback, however. He braces himself up with the back of a chair for a moment.

“If you do that again I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I think I’m actually getting better at that.” Reaper pushes the hood off of his head and takes a moment to sit down. “I only feel like I ran a mile that time.” He could feel his muscles spasm in contempt that he used that power again, but he had a much more difficult time keeping it together when he was a sopping mess. He starts to pull the jacket off of himself, revealing more of his skin. It’s gray, patchy, quickly fills with proper color, but maintains the familiar scars that Morrison had recognized the first time. The first time that it was just the two of them. He catches Jack looking. “I always break down like that when it rains.” An explanation for many things, but excluding a couple. One specifically that was very obvious: Why he brought Jack.

The room is rather lived in, there’s several empty containers for food. He must have been here for the last week. “You’re still eating?”

“It’s not like I can’t. I rather missed it. Come here.” He motions for him to come closer and starts to work the zipper down on the front of his jacket. “You’re like a wet dog.” He manages to peel it off of him. Jack pushes his hair down to push the water out of it, leaving it flat to his head. Gabriel scowls at how terrible that looks and takes off one of his gloves, ruffling it so that it might look stringy for now but at least it wasn’t cemented to his head. “Don’t do that, it looks terrible.”

“Don’t give me that shit, you wore that beanie every single day to work and I never gave you shit.”

“I put effort in now.” He holds back on the ‘it puts your looks to shame’ that pops into the back of his mind. He works his hands over Jack’s hips, he looks like he’s simply concentrating on the idea of what he wanted to do to Jack.

Reyes had brought him here to be with him. Morrison wasn’t going to stop him.

 Morrison knew that. Reyes knew that. Neither of them said anything about it.

But Morrison did decide that he was going to be in charge this time, He watches Gabriel rid them of their shoes before he pulls him up and puts him against the wall. A wisp of black smoke sneaks its way out of Gabriel’s mouth, and he quickly covers it with the back of his hand. Jack pulls his wrist away, but waits a moment before he actually removes his visor.

“You either want me to be able to look at you or you want my lips, but I can’t do both.”

It doesn’t take very long for Reyes to come to the decision of preferring to be kissed than for Jack to see him, as much as he wanted his eyes on him. Begrudgingly, Jack agrees, but does not default to Gabe at all. His vision blurs to none as the visor is relieved from duty and stays in Reyes’ hand. The mercenary and the soldier move closer to clash as they always have. Reyes presses his lips to Jack’s, and Morrison presses him back against the wall once more. His hands travel south along his hips and then take a detour to his belt. There’s a little waiver in Gabe’s breath, another wisp of smoke out of his mouth. He hadn’t expected this, then. Good. His fingers are quick to open the other’s belt, letting it dangle without any more attention.

 Reyes puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder and pushes down with a chuckle, thinking Jack would falter a little at the idea of getting on his knees. Trying to take a wind out of his sails and put a stumble in his march. He’s wrong, Jack doesn’t even resist, and that sobers him up a little even as his pants find themselves around his thighs. “At least take the gloves off, they’re soaking wet.”

 Jack is sure to take them off but not before he presses them against Gabriel’s dry neck. The cold water running down into his shirt makes him squirm and he grabs them from Morrison and throws them. “Stop being an ass—“ the hiss at the end of his sentence trails on as Morrison starts to pump the other man in his hand. Reyes’ gloved hands tear into Morrison’s shirt as his mouth joins his hand. The sounds that spill out of Reyes’ mouth only push him on. Like it was a game. What between then two of them wasn’t some kind of backhanded push, some ulterior motivation, or some power play anymore?

 Gabriel manages to open his eyes and look down at Morrison. The way that his mouth touched him, the way his hands sent sparks up his back. There was a hunger in his eyes and even though he couldn’t see him they still looked up at him. He knew doing that would send a shudder up his spine. He can practically feel him smirking and his hand grips his hair, pushing him down. There’s a tussle between the two of them as Soldier: 76 absolutely did not appreciate that. They bump into the end table and the radio on top of it flickers on, quietly playing the station it was on. Jack recognizes it as jazz. It ends with Reaper on the cot. He lays there thankful it isn’t the floor, with his pants and belt swimming around his ankles now.

 Jack grips hard at Gabriel’s hip as he goes back for more. He can hear him gasp quietly; hear the creak of the bed as he arches up. Had he been that vocal last time? Or was he too busy doing what Jack was reciprocating now? Jack holds out his hand expectantly. There’s only a few moments confusion out of the mercenary before he opens the small drawer of the nightstand, handing over a small bottle of lubricant in a silent agreement that there would indeed be a switch in power play in the bed this time. The give to his take.

 He was awfully thankful that this required really minimal sight. He could follow his hands wherever they needed to go. He pulls back for a moment, though. He peels the now torn shirt off of himself and lets it fall to the floor with a wet slap. Reaper actually lets out an amused snort. “Unless you’re looking for death, the pants should go too.”

 “Death and I are in the middle of an important affair, I don’t think he’d interrupt for his day job.” The dry humor between the two of them was very comforting. All weapons were off the table and he could relax. He could just let this happen. The pants join their partner, the shirt, in a heap on the floor, leaving Soldier: 76 with nothing.  Gabriel can’t stop looking. Lucky he can’t see him.

 Gabriel smirks. “Very funny.” The gloves and the shirt on Gabriel join them a few moments later as Jack rids him of the rest of his clothing.

The smirk doesn’t last very long when one of his legs is pinned to his chest. When Jack’s mouth leaves a bite mark on his thigh. When he watches lubricated fingers move to tease him. He takes the deliberately teasing motions only for a moment or so before, in his impatience, he hisses at Morrison to get going or he’d be putting him on his back. How immediate Jack is in pushing his fingers in, how deliberate he is in slowly working him, how he keeps bending them just enough to make him choke on his own moans, it’s almost overwhelming. What’s really overwhelming is how much more Jack toys with him to make him louder. Jack loves it, it’s the most he can concentrate on, so every noise out of Reyes is a push to keep going. It’s only when desperation in his tone and a demand for more come out instead of gasps and moans that Jack pulls away and pushes himself in.

 Gabriel’s hands pull him in closer, pressing them together, leaving long scratches down his back as Jack thrusts into him. His nails are blunted but long enough to leave marks, encouragement in the now, reminders in the later. Damn do they encourage Morrison, though, his movements only seem to be there to work him up. Was there ever a day that he just concentrated on himself? He can feel Jack pull away one of his hands to pin it next to his head, squeezing his fingers. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets go, moans spilling out with panted words for him not to stop. “Jack—fuck, _yes_ —“

 Pleasure builds quickly in his gut, and he arches his back smoothly, one leg perched on Morrison’s shoulder as Jack’s now freed hand holds just at the small of his back. And in a sudden instant, he reaches the peak, Jack’s name spilling off of his tongue over and over as he rides through it. Gabriel kisses him, he bites his lip, he yanks at his hair to make sure he stayed there as long as he wanted. His nails dig hard into Jack’s back again and he can feel the other man reach the end as well, stiff thrusts filling him inside. 

 The sound of panting is what is left between the two of them. Jack stays in for a few minutes, his forehead pressed against Gabriel’s chest. The slow tempo of the station the radio was on was in time with how slow the minutes were going between them now. Jack pulls himself from Gabriel and lays down next to him.

There’s silence. But it’s good silence. It’s a tranquil moment that the two of them let last for as long as it needs to. Gabriel looks for where Jack’s visor had gone and hands it to him when he finds it. But Jack doesn’t want it on right now. He just wants to hear the music and the sound of them both breathing. He puts it on the corner of the mattress.

The moment comes to an end with a question.

“Why did you leave those two shells behind when you left?” Jack asks, still almost breathless. Reyes actually lets out a soft laugh and covers his face like it’s embarrassing to tell him.

 “Why? No—wait. Why do you _think_ that they were there?” He asks first. Jack frowns and even though both of them know he can’t see; he still shoots him a glare. Even if he can’t aim those daggers, they still hit their mark.

 “I was assuming it meant something.”

 Gabriel is quite glad that Jack is blind in this moment. But the shaking of silent laughter gets a punch from the old soldier. He makes a pained yelp and rubs his shoulder, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

 “One is a bug, the other is a very precise GPS tracker.”

 Jack groans _. You have to be fucking kidding me._ So much for the meaning behind that. He’d played him better than he plays a guitar. Reyes lets himself smile rather widely and pulls Jack’s hand away from the bridge of his nose. “However, I knew that you would hang onto them a little better if I made them symbolic, so you were right, I did that on purpose.”

 “You wanted to keep an eye on me?” There’s something that clicks in his mind at that moment and his tone becomes very matter-of-fact. “You. Were worried about me, Gabriel Reyes.”

 The heat hitting Reaper’s face was like a hot lamp in an interrogation room. He huffs out with a little indignance in his tone of voice. “I wanted to make sure my effort to save your neck wasn’t wasted.” It’s an unexceptional attempt to push that idea off the table. It only made it about to the edge, but it was still there. He was worried.

 “I left those behind when I went on that objective.” He didn’t question why he had left again. They had already gone through that line of questioning when Jack was through giving him a thrashing. How often was he on this man’s mind?

 “You stopped walking around with them. And they didn’t move for three hours. So—“ Jack gasps as he interrupts him.

 “Did you go _check in on me_?” Silence. “Holy fuck—“ He is laughing now and Reyes is pushing his head into his shoulder with a snarl and a _‘pendejo’_. He’s a fool to think that would stop Soldier: 76 from feeling touched by someone he’d been antagonized by for so long. He can’t remember the last time he laughed this hard. A few more questions came out between what’s almost a snicker such as ‘how often did you listen?’ and ‘who notices things like that?’.

 Reaper doesn’t stop him from laughing. He hasn’t heard a real laugh from Jack Morrison in years. He couldn’t remember the last time but it was truly hard to forget a laugh like that. From the bottom of the lungs, with no attempt to hold back, but still through his teeth when he needed air. Gasps like he’s shocked he was laughing so hard. But it was so different now. Tired sounding no matter how much air was in his lungs, coarse with age and deeper now. Nothing made Reaper regret anything he’d ever done more than that laugh.

 He wished there was a way to describe the hollowness felt after the end of a good memory. Because that was all he was feeling at the moment. Jack apparently must have been talking and he didn’t realize it, because he swings his forearm to give him a tap with the back of his hand. He rubs the spot. And scowls.

 “What?” Such a grouchy tone.

 “You’re looking up like God’s on the ceiling.” Soldier: 76 mumbles before placing the visor back on the edge of the bed. He wished he had brought the compact one. He hadn’t felt this slighted by his lack of sight in years. And it was over looking at Reaper of all people. Not the sight of people living their lives calmly and peacefully, not the ocean that he had visited so often as a child, but the man he’d been in conflict with for so long he couldn’t remember when it had begun anymore. He lets out a sigh and lets his eyes shut the rest of the way, turning away a little.

 “I’m thinking.” Of what, was the question. He was thinking of how any more times he would do this. End up in the same bed as Jack Morrison. He was digging his own grave here, and he’d already been buried once. He was cashing in on some prime real estate considering that he was sleeping with who was most likely his worst enemy. And he didn’t want it to stop just as much as he knew it had to. This would never work.

 “You’re going to get wrinkles with your brow furrowed that much.” He teases through a tired mumble. He can feel himself fading right into the pillow his head was pressed into.

 “Oh you would know?”

 There isn’t an answer.

 “Morrison?” Gabriel looks over at Jack, has to lean over a little more to see his face. “Jack.”

 Asleep. Asleep with that frame attached to his face like an idiot. It looks so uncomfortable. He doesn’t understand how he wears this instead of the compact one. Maybe it’s to hide the rest of his face, make him more intimidating. _Not much unlike what you’re trying to do is it, Gabriel?_ He wrestles with whether he should try taking it off from him on letting him sleep with it on. Taking it off wins out. It’s just bugging him too damn much.

 It takes him ten minutes to figure out how to get the thing off and get it off without waking him up. He puts it on the nearest surface he can find within arm’s reach and watches him sleep. He wants to touch him. He runs his hands through still slightly damp hair. Or was it just from sweat? He couldn’t tell.

 He knows what’s going to happen. He feels the need to run again. Like a coward. He wished he could end it but as much rage as Morrison put in him, He couldn’t let go of the comfort derived from the intimacy they had. They were stuck together in limbo. One wouldn’t let go of the other. It was just a cycle where one tried to get away and the other pulled them back in.

He leans in for a last kiss. He tries once more to pull away.

 Soldier: 76 wakes up to silence. The radio is off. He can feel that the mount for his visor is off of his jaw. But he still doesn’t need either of them to know that this was a repeat.

 He still calls out. “Gabriel?”

 Soldier: 76 doesn’t know why he’s surprised as much as he is that once again, Reaper has come and gone. He’s not surprised at how angry he is about this being the second time that Gabriel has dared to leave without a word. He thinks perhaps he wouldn’t be as acrimonious if the spot next to him hadn’t still had a little bit of lingering warmth.

 What he can’t see right now is his clothes; neatly hung to dry. Food, left there for him. Mediocre attempts at an apology that he would later decide wasn’t good enough.

 Reaching over to the radio, after a few moments of fumbling, he turned it on again.

 He lays there for a while, sightless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a real summary of this chapter: http://alexanderlozada.com/iasip/?R2FiZSBzY3J1YnMgb3V0IGZvciB0aGUgc2Vjb25kIHRpbWUgZXZlbiB0aG91Z2ggaGUgc2F5cyBoZSB3b24ndA==
> 
> I discovered this link the other day and I've been using it on all of my discord friends that remotely care about this fic and I promised I would stop using it. But in the words of the great Dr. House: Everybody lies.
> 
> We've reached the end of what I have scheduled in my draft right now, so the next chapter might take just a touch longer as I get it together.

**Author's Note:**

> A little encouragement from my Discord group made this happen. A good old-fashioned I wish I could quit you fic.
> 
> Maybe more to come. I don't know. This was a really quick pass through as I haven't written a fic like this in four years. Thanks for reading.
> 
> If you want to follow me on tumblr, my url is commanderfantasy.tumblr.com
> 
> I just remade it so it's p-r-e-t-t-y bare.


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